The Lion, the Dwarves and the Hobbit
by RhoGlass
Summary: In which a seasoned dimensional traveler wandering in the wilds of the north finds her slightly dubious expertise on dragons in demand, takes on yet another fake name and joins a band of unlikely heroes on their quest to reclaim their long lost homeland.
1. Chapter 1

**The Lion, the Dwarves and the Hobbit**

**Summary:**

Running is what she does. She hides, avoids, and lies. It's her nature. But she hates it and it's brought her nothing but trouble. Which is probably why when Gandalf tracks her down and asks for her her expertise she says yes even though she knows it will be difficult and dangerous. But can she really, truly start over or is this life just another lie to forget and run from?

(In which a seasoned dimensional traveler wandering in the wilds of the north finds her slightly dubious expertise on dragons in demand, takes on yet another fake name and joins a band of unlikely heroes on their quest to reclaim their long lost homeland.)

**Chapter One**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Hobbit. I also don't own the elements that my OC is shamelessly borrowing from the asoiaf/GoT series.

* * *

The grey wizard, Gandalf, she reminded herself stopped them off to the side of the road, greeting the burly and rather tall dwarf in the middle of it with a casual: "Ah, Dwalin, most convenient of us to run into you."

"Us?" grumbled the dwarf, crossing his arms over his chest and glowering at her with clear and obvious suspicion.

"Us," agreed Gandalf, not at all put out by his unfriendly manner, "I managed to track the rumours of the dragon expert of which I spoke. It would be most helpful if you would take her up to the meeting while I retrieve the others from the Green Dragon."

Taking that as a hint she swung a leg over and slid to the ground, wincing as the motion aggravated some of the stiffness in her hips and knees, she'd ridden with the wizard almost without pause for the better part of a week, coming south from the village of Belgrave and into the Shire proper, and it marked the longest single stretch of riding she'd ever done.

The dwarf favoured her with a glance and then turned to the wizard with a short grunt of assent, "I can do that if there's need but Thorin, my brother, the lads and possibly Óin and Glóin will be arriving separately. They had last minute preparations to make."

"They will have to find their own way then, I must secure more provisions at the inn and I hardly have the time or the inclination to go chasing them around the Shire. In any case I've marked the door with rune and craft both, it should be easy enough to find."

Dwalin offered another grunt, and Gandalf shook his head a bit.

"Careful on your way," he offered before spurring his horse into a trot and taking off down the road.

Once he was around the corner the dwarf turned back to her and gave her a more searching look. She felt a distinct well of panic in the centre of her gut, but she reminded herself that she was turning over a new leaf. Meeting new people was something that everyone else managed all the time and there was no reason to fear a friend of the grey wizard's. So, she clasped her arms behind her back to hide the shaking of her hands and offered Dwalin a small smile.

She got an unimpressed little grunt for her trouble.

"Dragon expert are you?" he said, shaking his head, "I won't pretend to know what that old meddler is thinking, but it isn't wise to interfere with the will of a wizard, or so it's said. I am Dwalin, at your service."

He offered his name grudgingly and favoured her with a shallow bow and she was suddenly glad that Gandalf had thought to have a few words with her about what constituted politeness among dwarves.

"R-ros Lannister, at yours and your family's," she replied with a bow of her own, cursing herself for stuttering.

She didn't want to give Dwalin the impression that she couldn't handle herself or that she was afraid of him, even though both of those things were at least a little bit true, so she offered another carefully practiced smile and indicated the road with a jerk of her head.

"Shall we?"

Dwalin shook his head and moved passed her with another grunt and Ros sighed to herself.

"Oh yeah, this'll be loads of fun."

The roads of the Shire was well-worn and well maintained, lined by trees and lawns, farms and houses with little fences painted white and green and yellow and occasionally adorned with more delicate paintings of vines and flowers.

Ros took some comfort in the fact that Dwalin seemed just as disdainful of them as he was of her. Not that she was all that impressive, for all that Gandalf had introduced her as a dragon expert. Not to a dwarf like Dwalin.

He was a very clearly a warrior, through and through, from the faded tattoos on the crown of his bare head to the pair of heavy and geometrically ornate battle axes he had strapped to his back. His armour was broken in boiled leather lorica under his travel-stained cloak and his arms bulged with muscle. Paired with his overall growly and disapproving demeanour he cut both an impressive and intimidating figure and he made Ros feel small despite the fact that she was at least half a head taller than him.

As the sun continued to set and true night fell they had to stop and ask for directions from a hobbit matron with a wary expression who was selecting a few choice items from her kitchen garden when they passed by and was openly staring by the time they got their directions up to Bag End. She sent them off with a warning not to go dragging Mister Bilbo into anything troublesome, saying that he had quite settled down from his youth and was a proper, respectable Baggins nowadays.

"That doesn't really sound promising does it," Ros muttered, more to herself than anything, frowning at the darkening lane.

"No, it doesn't," agreed Dwalin with a grunt of displeasure.

Ros started, those being the only words her erstwhile walking companion had spoken to her in the better part of an hour.

"Gandalf mentioned that he was recommending the hobbit to be the company's burglar, that he thought that he had the best chance of sneaking a treasure past Smaug if he was still alive."

"He did say that," agreed Dwalin.

"What will you do if you can't get him to help?" she asked, curious despite herself.

"Don't know that we'll be wanting the kind of help he can offer in any case," grumbled Dwalin, "Never met him but my brother is convinced he's an outright thief and not to be trusted. He hasn't contracted with us yet. And as for the other bit, well, I've been told Nori is joining the company along with his brothers and I know for a fact that that sneak-thief has stealth and skill."

For all that the words were complimentary Dwalin sounded distinctly disapproving of this Nori character as well. Ros wondered briefly if there was anything that Dwalin did approve of.

"No hardship has touched these lands in what seems like living memory," he added as they approached Bag End, the dwarf rune glowing visibly against the forest green paint of the door, "I can't think that anyone who lives here would be of use to us."

And Ros thought that he was probably right, given the givens, but she also knew that Gandalf had tracked her stupidly unlikely butt down through the mire of time, wilderness and a few different names using only the threads of truth in the stories about dragons that she'd been telling to the younglings and in the taprooms for a bit of bread and stew.

Dwalin contemplated the door for a moment, eying the rune and the flowerbeds alike with equal parts incredulity and distrust and then he grunted and turned to her, pining her with a stern and outright menacing glare.

"Now see here, lass," he said, pointing a finger somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach, "I don't know what that wizard is thinking and I don't care, but if you're going to be a part of this company you're not to be using whatever Mannish nonsense passes as manners no matter how bad the hobbit ends up being. There won't be any talk of business until after the meal. You'll hand over your weapons without any trouble. And you'll offer your service same as the rest of us."

"Of course," said Ros, wiping her sweaty palms on the backs of her trousers surreptitiously.

Dwalin gave her another of those searching looks and then nodded, apparently satisfied by whatever he'd observed and reached over to ring the bell.

It was a few moments before the door swung open but when it did it revealed, well, not what Ros had been expecting.

The hobbit was small of course, hardly bigger than a child, with a slight paunch around the middle and a head of sandy colored curls tumbling around the delicate points of his ears. He was clearly not expecting them, whatever Gandalf had convinced the dwarves, if the look on his face was any indicator and even in his shirtsleeves and a patchwork dressing gown with the sash hanging loose he was better put together than she was.

"Dwalin," offered Dwalin, with a bow, "At your service."

"Bilbo Baggins, at yours," said the hobbit automatically, scrambling to tie his robe shut, his brows furrowing in confusion as Dwalin nodded and pushed his way into the house without so much as a by-your-leave.

"Um, d-do we know each other?" he asked.

"No," Dwalin answered shortly, as though he thought Bilbo was being purposefully obtuse, reaching for his axes and setting them to leaning up against the nearest wall.

The hobbit twitched slightly wavering about what he should do so Ros decided to cut in before Dwalin got them both thrown out, because dwarvish manners were clearly not what Bilbo was expecting out of the night.

"Ros Lannister, at your service," she said, offering Bilbo a sympathetic smile, and a bow of her own and padding past him into the foyer.

"Which way, laddie? Is it down here?" demanded Dwalin, apparently getting tripped up by the rounded and organic nature of the hobbit hole, unfastening his cloak from his broad shoulders and tossing it at Bilbo, who caught it automatically.

"Is what down where?" asked Bilbo, blinking in confusion even as he hung Dwalin's overlong coat on his coatrack.

"Supper," Dwalin clarified, "He said there'd be food. And lots of it."

"He said—who said?"

Dwalin ignored the question and strode off down the larger of the three halls without seeming to mind that he was tracking roadside dirt into the lovely little dwelling.

Ros shut the door behind her, since it seemed Bilbo wasn't going to, and unclipped her long knife from her belt and pulled her little knife out of her boot, holding them out to the hobbit hilt first, "Could you put these somewhere out of the way?"

"What, oh, yes, of course, um—"

He dithered for a moment before eventually setting them atop a square wooden chest and Ros hung her jacket up on the coat rack on a peg near the wall to counterbalance the weight of Dwalin's cloak and toed off her mud caked boots.

"What exactly is going on here, if you don't mind my asking, Miss Lannister?"

"Ros'll do," she offered, wondering if she ought to just tell Bilbo that Gandalf was having a bit of fun at his expense and eventually deciding against it since she really didn't want the tables turned on her, "We were invited over for a bit of supper."

"Supper," repeated Bilbo faintly, shaking his head, "Yes but who would—"

Ros talked right over the question, wincing at her own rudeness but completely unwilling to ruin the wizard's fun or let the irritable Dwalin know that Bilbo had no idea why they were there.

"I've actually come directly from Belgrave so you'll have to excuse my appearance, is there somewhere I could wash up a bit?" she asked.

"D-down that hall the last door on the left, help yourself to the linens," offered Bilbo a bit distractedly bustling off with a wary backward glance at her as a loud clatter came from the kitchen area.

Ros made her way down the indicated hall and found a small bathroom with a washbasin and a crude version of indoor plumbing. It wasn't a real bath or shower but it was better than a creek and certainly more than she'd had in days, so without further ado, she stripped out of her clothes and underthings, took what looked to be the oldest towel from the cupboard and the small cake of soap and used both to ruthless effect on the grime and unfortunate smell that had accumulated on the road.

There wasn't much to be done about her clothes, she didn't have much in terms of a spare set—it wasn't practical or prudent with her lifestyle—but she did endeavor to wash her shirt and smallclothes somewhat lacing up her close fitting jerkin over her breast band for decency and wiping at some of the stains on her pants.

Her hair took a bit more effort to get clean and combed and she borrowed Bilbo's scissors to neaten the ragged ends from when she'd last used her knife to hack a hunk off. She scraped it back from her face as best as she could and the mess immediately began to frizz, but there was nothing to be done about that and really this was hardly a situation where it was necessary to cater to her own somewhat battered vanity.

She pulled a face at herself in the wide mirror hanging on the wall and for all that she felt like she should hardly recognize herself after everything, she still looked much the same. Pretty after a fashion with wide doe eyes that remained unlined despite her advancing years and high cheekbones that paired oddly with her small mouth making her smile look like a smirk and close-mouthed indifference like she was begging for kisses.

She pulled her lips away from her teeth and dug into her belt-pouch for the willow-bark brush she'd shredded to keep her teeth—the work of ten thousand dollars, five years and a great deal of orthodontics—in good condition.

Feeling cleaner and more modernized then she'd felt in a good long while Ros cleaned up the bathroom a bit and snuck out the back door to put her wet things on the line, hoping that the cool gusts of early autumn wind would have them more or less dry by morning.

* * *

**Khuzdul:**

Shazara - silence

Du bekar - to arms!

Tharkun - The Dwarf name for Gandalf

**AN: **Hello and welcome to the story! Before you venture any further there are a few things that I'm sure readers would like to be aware of...

1\. This story will tend to rely on the movie aspects or deviate from canon entirely either based on the premise of the story or where I want to add dramatic flair (therefore this is perhaps not a good story for the Tolkien purists among you)

2\. Do not be concerned if you don't understand about Ros or her history for the moment as it will be revealed as the story goes on. Some basic facts include the following: yes she is from our Earth, her birth name is not Ros Lannister she picked it from asoiaf/GoT, she has traveled to one other realm besides Earth and Middle Earth.

3\. I am not 100% settled on the pairings, so if you have a suggestion feel free to let me know, but I do have a preference in mind already for the main romances (I want to leave it a surprise and let the relationships develop organically but if you absolutely have to know the pairings I'm leaning towards for whatever reason you can feel free to ask in a review or PM)

**EDIT (March 28 2015):** Nope, sorry, I lied, main pairing has definitely been decided, please enjoy your Fili/Ros~~

4\. The story is rated M primarily for graphic descriptions of violence and potentially disturbing topics (for which I will attempt to add chapter specific warnings) but there may be sexual situations farther down the line (which I will also clearly mark out for those who want to avoid them).

5\. Lastly, I hope you find that my OC is well-rounded and engaging but if at any point I stray too far into Mary-Sue territory please feel obligated to sound the alarms, light the beacons, and use whatever methods are to your liking to show me the error of my ways.

Well, hopefully that covers everything! I'll try not to be so long-winded in the future. In the meantime though, thanks for taking the time to read! I welcome any and all suggestions, questions, comments, or criticisms :)


	2. Chapter 2

**The Lion, the Dwarves and the Hobbit**

**Chapter Two**

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the Hobbit or any of the references to asoiaf/GoT culture.

* * *

When she came back in Bilbo was opening the door for a second dwarf. An older, and far shorter dwarf with thick white hair and a beard that was nearly long enough to tuck into his belt.

"Balin," he introduced, cheerily, giving a jaunty little bow, "At your service."

"Good evening," said Bilbo, a bit frostily.

"Yes, yes it is. Although I think it may rain later," said Balin glancing up at the sky. "Am I late?"

"Late for what, exactly?"

Balin unloaded his weapons next to Dwalin's axes but deigned to keep his coat on, and glanced consideringly down at her bare feet and Bilbo's before shaking his head a bit to himself and pointedly not divesting himself of his boots.

Ros wondered if that was a dwarf thing since the wooden floors of Bag End were clean and warm enough even for someone without a hobbit's thick-soled and well-furred feet.

"Balin, at your service lass," he said, offering her a bow, "Are you also here for the meeting?"

"Ros Lannister, at yours and your family's," replied Ros with a bow of her own, "And yes, I am—" she cut herself off before she could speak of business before dinner, and instead said, "I arrived with Dwalin, I believe he's in the kitchen."

"Not anymore," laughed Balin, eyes twinkling as he caught sight of the taller dwarf who was raiding the jar of cookies in the living room by the light of the fire there having trouble extracting them from an opening meant for smaller hobbit hands. "Evening brother."

Dwalin turned away from the cookies, setting them down on a side-table, and an actual smile came over his face. Ros had to blink a few times to be sure she'd seen things correctly, the dour companion of the past few hours had all but disappeared.

"By my beard, you're shorter and wider then when last we met," Dwalin said, clapping his brother fondly on the shoulder.

"Wider. Not shorter. And sharp enough for the both of us."

And then they did something that Ros had heard about but never witnessed herself and crashed their heads together like stubborn mountain rams as though it were the same as a warm hug or a buss on the cheek.

Ros and Bilbo both winced visibly but dwarves were made of sterner stuff than little hobbits or skinny daughters of the race of man and they just laughed at their expressions and pounded warmly on each other.

Bilbo tried to gather himself, "Um, excuse me; sorry, hate to interrupt, ah, but the thing is I am not entirely certain you're in the right house," he said.

He was promptly ignored, of course, and Ros was beginning to wonder what exactly Gandalf had said that had them ignoring Bilbo's demands for explanations about who had sent them, although she did understand that the why of the thing could be construed as speaking of business before dinner.

"Have you eaten?" asked Dwalin.

"Had a bit of a nibble down at the inn since I wasn't sure what kind of fare would be available," Balin answered.

Dwalin grunted, but it was a pleasant sort of laughing grunt, "If there's one thing you can say for the shirelings they know their food. Come on, this way, we'll get you seconds."

Perhaps, she thought, following Balin and Dwalin down the hall and into a rather large pantry, the dwarves enjoyed watching Bilbo sputter and stutter and flit around in confusion and distress.

And while it was distinctly amusing, even to Ros who didn't actually approve of this kind of hazing, she did feel rather sorry for the hobbit.

"It's not that I don't like visitors," Bilbo was huffing out, as though someone had accused him of unsociability, "I-I like visitors as much as the next hobbit. However, I do prefer to know them before them come, um, visiting!"

"Ah, that looks very nice indeed," said Balin, gesturing to a cured ham the size of Ros' torso, completely ignoring Bilbo.

"Leave it for the moment, here have a roll," said Dwalin rummaging, "We'll carve it up and set it out for the rest once we get a table set up. Catch lass," he added to Ros tossing another roll and a late summer pear over his shoulder at her.

Balin picked up a small wheel of soft cheese wrapped in waxed paper, examining it with a pinched face.

"What's that?"

"I don't know, I think it's meant to be some kind of cheese," said Balin.

"The thing is, um—" Bilbo tried again.

"It's gone blue," Dwalin pointed out pulling a revolted face.

"It's riddled with mould," agreed Balin.

"It's meant to look like that," Ros said, tearing through her roll, suddenly ravenous after days of only hardtack and stale meatrolls for meals, "It's called blue cheese and it's meant to be a kind of a delicacy even if it is an acquired taste. Just leave it aside if you don't want it," she added when it looked like Dwalin was just going to pitch it wherever.

Dwalin grunted, but grudgingly put it up on the highest shelf.

"The thing is," Bilbo persisted, "I don't know any of you. Not in the slightest. I don't mean to be blunt, especially not with guests, but, well, I had to speak my mind. I'm sorry."

Balin and Dwalin froze, apparently finally acknowledging Bilbo's words and turned to look at the hobbit, who apparently was thinking better of speaking at all.

"Hm," said Balin with a nod and a smile, "Apology accepted. Come now, brother," the older dwarf added, turning back to Dwalin who had found the tankards in the cupboards above the ale keg, "Fill it up now, don't stint!"

Bilbo made a frustrated noise through his nose and Ros couldn't help but laugh a bit, nudging him slightly.

"Now don't make that sour face, Mister Baggins," she teased, "Relax a bit, have fun, surely we're not such terrible guests?"

"No, no, no," Bilbo said, flailing visibly, "Not as such, and I don't mean any offense Miss Lannister, truly, but, i-it's just—"

He trailed off gesturing illustratively at Balin and Dwalin, who'd helped themselves to ales and deviled eggs and a jar of pickles and some cheese that was not blue.

"This is most irregular," he puffed out finally.

Ros hummed an agreement, "True, but if you relax a bit you'll enjoy yourself, trust me. And if it's about the expense of the food, I have some coin to start out with and I will cover the rest when I can. A Lannister always pays her debts."

Bilbo immediately became another two parts apologetic and a half-part ruffled indignation, fluttering his hands at her illustratively.

"No, no, no, I couldn't possibly—certainly not of a lady!—that is quite unnecessary Miss Lannister, do put it from your mind. I apologize, I've been quite unforgivably inhospitable. Come into the kitchen, I'll put on a pot of tea if you don't care for ale or I have several good vintages of wine."

"Tea would be lovely, thank you Mister Baggins."

Dwalin and Balin both made somewhat impressed faces at her and, feeling daring, Ros threw them a saucy wink in reply, letting Bilbo shuffle her along and install her at the kitchen table with a plate of the cookies Dwalin had been trying to get at earlier.

"Fiddlesticks," sighed Bilbo, bustling around putting the kettle on and scrounging up a half-loaf of fresh crusty bread and a bowl of ripe strawberries, producing cream, sugar, honey, a plate of chilled sandwich meat seemingly out of nowhere, "I don't like being caught this unprepared," he confessed, as though she hadn't already gathered as much, "Especially with new acquaintances, it's quite troubling, I can't decide whether I'm more worried that your dwarf friends will devour the entire contents of my pantry or that there won't be enough to feed them properly."

"Well, I don't think they'll mind all the same, I just met them actually but they seem like a versatile bunch and it seems they'll help themselves to whatever they like, no worries about that!"

"Really, you just met? How did you all come to be invited to my house? And of course, they seem happy enough but that's not the point! I am a Baggins, and a hobbit of the Shire, I have a reputation to uphold, why if this got out, no, no, it simply doesn't bear thinking on," Bilbo sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose and giving himself a little shake, "In any case we'll just have to make do, it's far too late to start cooking anything after all, and I don't have anything suitable for a dessert course—"

The bell rang through the house again, and Bilbo's brow furrowed almost comically, "And just how many dwarves are coming anyway?" he complained even as he went to the door, tossing his dressing gown over the back of an armchair and tucking in the billowy linen of his striped shirt.

Ros let him grumble and fret, taking a large hunk of bread with the fresh churned butter and the raspberry compote and trying not to moan at the rich flavour. It seemed like forever since she'd had a meal that wasn't stew or journey rations on the road. Even longer since she'd had meat—her stolen longbow had been broken a year ago when she encountered bandits on the road to Foronost and she hadn't been able to replace it— and the fresh fruit, sweets, and butter were pure paradise, she hadn't had any of that since she'd become a dragon's princess.

Ros grabbed another slice from the platter of cold-cuts, and wandered over to the door to see who had turned up out of the company of dwarves. Gandalf had told her a bit about who he was expecting while they were on the road, not a lot mind, the wizard had been infuriatingly cryptic, scooping her out of the forest and singing songs about putting her knowledge and talents to good use, helping claim back a homeland. Pushing all the right buttons and cutting right through her resolve to just remove herself from the world as much as possible. Forcing her to take yet another name, and hope, that this time it stuck.

The two dwarves bracketed by the round entrance to Bag End were young for dwarves, that much even Ros—who hadn't had much exposure to them—could tell, their faces were both smooth and handsome without any of the weathered crags of age and mountain exposure, the taller dark haired one didn't have more than a thick stubble on his chin just yet, and the shorter one seemed only a little older for all that he had a full beard and a complex array of braids in his thick blond hair.

"Fíli," said the blond.

"And Kíli," added his companion.

"At your service," they said in unison, bowing.

Ros smiled a bit around a mouthful of chicken, they looked nothing alike at first glance, but from their manner it was clear that they were brothers. Ros might have even guessed they were twins if it wasn't for the difference in beard lengths.

"You must be Mister Boggins," said the younger of the two, eagerly, a wide easy grin stretching his mouth.

Ros almost expected him to snatch Bilbo's hand and start pumping it enthusiastically, though she was sure that hand shaking was not actually a customary greeting in Middle Earth.

"Certainly not," replied Bilbo, a twitch of his lips betraying him, as it seemed he was ready to get a little payback for being on the receiving end of confusion all evening.

"You're not?"

"No one by the name of Boggins lives here, I can safely assure you."

"But, the rune! This must be the right house!" insisted Kíli, "Has it been cancelled?"

"No one told us," frowned Fíli, peering at Bilbo suspiciously.

"No, nothing's been cancelled," chuckled Bilbo, "But my name is not Boggins, but Baggins. Bilbo Baggins, at your service. At least you two scamps should remember the name of the person you're infringing upon, don't you think?"

Kíli looked a bit stricken, but his brother seemed to realise that Bilbo was mostly teasing and offered him an even more elaborate bow, "My sincerest apologies Mister Baggins, a most grievous and ungallant error. Please excuse my brother, we meant to offer no insult upon either your most esteemed personage or your lovely dwelling."

Kíli looked at his brother like he'd grown a second head for a moment before giving a shrug, another blinding grin, and adding, "And mine as well, esteemed Master Hobbit. If I have offered you insult and offense I will throw myself at your feet and beg your pardon."

Bilbo chuckled, blushing a bit in the tips of his ears, "Oh, tosh, now that's quite enough of that," he said swinging the door open, "I've taken no offense and you've given none, as well you know, you infuriatingly charming rapscallions. There's a foot brush to your left there, make use of it if you please so that you're not tracking mud all through the place. I know how silly you dwarves get about your shoes."

Obediently Fíli and Kíli made somewhat dubious use of the stiff bristles of the brush to get the worst of the mud off their boots and made their way into Bag End, Kíli stripping off his weapons—a small recurve bow, a hunting knife and a short sword that put Ros in mind of a Roman gladius— with eagerness, handing them to Bilbo without compunction and promptly disappearing into the depths of the house.

Fíli had rather more weapons. Rather a lot more. He had more knifes of every possible size, shape and description hidden on his person then Ros had ever seen in one place and it seemed Bilbo was just as wide-eyed about the sudden deluge of sharp implements piled into his arms.

"Careful with those, I just had 'em sharpened," Fíli said as he pulled out the last one and settled it on the top of the pile.

Ros wasn't sure if that was a warning made out of concern for Bilbo or the weapons themselves, but Bilbo cast around for a safe place to put them nonetheless.

"This is a really nice place," Kíli complimented, "Did you do it yourself?"

"No, uh, it's been in the family for years. Great-grandpa Belbo built it for his future wife as a courting gift to lure her away from her other suitor Poppin Took, or so the story goes."

Kíli goggled a bit at the house, looking impressed, "Bit large and extravagant for just a courting gift, he must have loved her very much."

"Oh, yes, well, their romance was the talk of the Shire for a bit, Old Cotton's daughters still tell the tale any chance they get hoping that their own suitors will take the hint."

"And are you the estimable Mistress Baggins then?" asked Fíli, turning to Ros, who'd been slumped against the entranceway to the living room watching the proceedings with amusement.

"Not hardly," said Ros, flushing a bit as the older brother flashed her a teasing grin, "Ros Lannister, at your service. I was called for the meeting."

"A great pleasure, Miss Lannister. My brother and I are the service of you and your family," he said with a bow.

"Fíli, Kíli, don't just stand around yammering, come help us with this," called Dwalin.

"Mister Dwalin!" exclaimed Kíli sounding pleased and allowing himself to be led into the dining room.

"We'll need to shove this into the hallway or we'll never get everyone in," Balin insisted, gesturing at Bilbo's dining table and chairs, which, although long, was only meant to seat eight spaciously or ten with a bit of a squidge.

Fili and Dwalin managed to wrestle the table into place without too much difficulty while their brothers dealt with the chairs.

"Just how many more of you are there?" demanded Bilbo, a bit wide-eyed as the dwarves began hunting for more sit-upons, "N-no, no. Those are Granpa Mungo's dining chairs, their antiques and not for sitting on! I'll get the chairs from the guest bedroom."

"Don't trouble yourself, lad, Kíli will fetch them out," said Balin.

Bilbo made a worried noise but left them to it wringing his hands.

"Relax Mister Baggins," Ros insisted, "Come on let's get you a cup of tea."

The two of them retreated to the kitchen and left the dwarves to their own devices, since Bilbo looked like he might get twitchy again.

"Miss Lannister, just how many dwarves am I to be hosting tonight?"

"Ros is fine," she insisted gently buttering a hunk of bread and putting a slice of cold meat on top of it, pushing it into Bilbo's hands, "And I believe there are thirteen."

The hobbit made a wounded noise and shoved the food in his mouth without paying too much attention, as she'd intended, picking up another bit and devouring it with equal vigor.

"Thirteen dwarves," he said between mouthfuls, "What clothead decided that sending me thirteen dwarves and one woman was a good practical joke? I have to say in my opinion it is in very poor taste!"

The doorbell rang again.

"Botheration!"

Ros takes the whistling kettle off the fire gingerly, craning her neck to see what is going on, and when Bilbo throws the door of Bag End open for a fourth time a whole heap of dwarves came tumbling into the foyer grumbling at each other to 'Get off!' and the grey wizard was behind them, if Bilbo's short, and distinctly annoyed grumbled of: "Gandalf, I might have known," was anything to go by.

For the next quarter hour or so Ros was very glad she'd retreated into the kitchen, because the whole of Bag End descended into raucous chaos. The dwarves that passed through offered her bows and their service and there was a whole armoury piled in the front room, and they milled about exchanging greetings and ale and plates of food.

The only one Ros could say for sure she could pick out of the crowd would be Dori, whose elaborate braids and light hair were incredibly distinctive and who'd joined her for a moment as he waited for the kettle to boil again and prepared a second pot of tea, this one a lovely chamomile. Making carefully choreographed small talk about tea, the weather, and the state of the roads that made Ros feel like she was in an Austen novel.

Bilbo was getting more riled as the party wore on, and Ros wasn't about to brave the milling press of bodies to drag him out of his funk.

"Isn't that a tad excessive," she heard him ask, exasperated, and then worriedly inquiring, "Have you got a cheese knife?"

"Cheese knife," replied another dwarf, loudly, "He eats it by the block."

Ros caught a glimpse of the rotund dwarf with the long, red beard carrying three wheels of cheese to his spot at the far end of the table, and found herself agreeing with Bilbo. That was definitely excessive. Even her cheese-crazy step-mother would have said so. It was really no wonder he was so large.

Gandalf appeared in the kitchen, hunched slightly as he endeavoured not to knock his head on any of the low-hanging light fixtures. He had the little glass Dori had fetched out for him pinched between his thumb and forefinger and was casting around the clutter of the kitchen.

Getting up Ros poured him a more, well, man-sized portion and he gave her a fond smile.

"Ah, Ros, my thanks. I'm afraid the trouble with dwarves is that they take things very literally. Will you not join us in the hall?"

"No thank, you Gandalf," said Ros, "It's looking a bit crowded and messy in there for my taste, and I've just finished off more than my fair share of strawberries dipped in pastry cream and rolled in sugar."

Gandalf threw a glance at the empty bowls and chuckled, "A feat, to be sure. Do try and be social, my dear, if I have my way you'll be travelling with these dwarves quite a ways."

A rousing shout went up from the hallway and Ros wondered if Bilbo's neighbours would call for whatever passed for the police to complain about the noise.

One of the dwarves, the one who reminded Ros of a wolf and who had the head of an axe sticking out of his head, grumbled something in the rumbling dwarf language to Gandalf, making motions with his hands and body that looked to be some kind of sign language.

"Yes, yes, you're quite right Bifur," answered Gandalf, sipping his wine. "We appear to be one dwarf short."

"He is just late is all," said Dwalin, tongue loosened and gruffness mellowed out by ale, good food and better company, "He traveled north to a meeting of our kin. He will come."

Bifur said something else that Ros had no hope of understanding and started rooting around in the kitchen meandering out to the water pump and back and starting to clear away her dishes, shooing her gruffly out of his way.

Ros retreated to the other room where Bilbo was snatching a bit fabric from one of the dwarves, all his former calm gone.

"That is a doily, not a dishcloth!" he declared.

"But it's full of holes," said another dwarf, this one in a hat with wide flaps, propping up a wall and munching on an apple.

"It's supposed to look like that, it's crochet."

"And a wonderful game it is too," said the dwarf with a sly smile, "If you've got the balls for it."

Ros couldn't help but snicker, it had been what seemed like an age since she'd heard a dirty joke.

"Oh and the lady is amused," crowed the dwarf, doffing his hat to her briefly and waggling his eyebrows, "Not such a lady then, I'll wager."

"Enough of that Bofur," scolded Dori, rounding the corner with his empty tea service. "Do excuse him Miss Lannister, this one is completely incapable of keeping a civil tongue."

Bofur didn't seemed put out by Dori's disapproval, on the contrary, it seemed to delight him.

"Bother and confusticate these dwarves!" Bilbo said, throwing his hands up and throwing himself down into the nearest armchair.

"I thought you were getting used to them," said Ros, amused.

"I thought so too but there are just so many of them and I don't understand what they're doing in my house," groaned Bilbo, "I should be patient with guests, I know—"

"Now my dear Bilbo, what on earth is the matter?" asked Gandalf, blue eyes twinkling merrily.

"You!" Bilbo said pointing an imperious finger at the wizard, "I don't know what you think you're doing inviting all these dwarves into my home without so much as a word or a by-your-leave, but as you have and as it is my house I would not be opposed to knowing just what they are doing here!"

"Excuse me," said one of the younger dwarves, this one was in a loose-fitting cardigan and knitted fingerless gloves, "Sorry to interrupt, but what do I do with my plate?"

"Here, Ori, give it to me," said Fíli, snatching the dish in question out of his hands and tossing it over his shoulder.

Ros was alarmed for a second but Kíli caught the dish easily and threw it into the kitchen where Bifur was standing at the sink. The wolf-like dwarf caught the plate without looking and all they could do was watch wide-eyed as the other dwarves took it as their cue to send yet more empty dishes flying and tumbling through the air, keeping them off the floor in a show of careless coordination that was as worrying as it was impressive.

"Hmm," puffed Gandalf hastily jerking his nose out of the way as two bowls a plate and a goblet whizzed through the smoke of his pipe, just barely missing the end of his long nose.

"Excuse me!" cried Bilbo, leaping from his chair flustered and indignant, "That is my mother's West Farthing crockery, it's over a hundred years old!"

The dwarves began to drum on the table with the ends of their utensils and stomp the floor with their boots rhythmically, patently unconcerned by Bilbo's cries and occasionally clanking the metal ends together for a scraping counterpoint.

It was actually quite good music, Ros found herself thinking, for not having any instruments.

"Can-can you not do that, you'll blunt them!"

"Oh ho, do y'hear that lads?" said Bofur, recognizable as much from the shit-disturbing tone of voice as the hat, "He says we'll blunt the knives."

"Blunt the knives, bend the forks," sang Kíli, still relaying dishes down the hall.

"Smash the bottles and burn the corks," sang Fíli.

"Chip the glasses and crack the plates

That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!" chimed in the rest of the dwarves.

And they continued to sing—and throw dishware with abandon—apparently making the verses up on the spot, although no one seemed to be confused about what the words were to be. Bofur produced a flute from somewhere, helping dishes along with flaps of his chicken elbows while the rotund dwarf, Bommer? Maybe? Was saddled with whatever scraps had been left on the plates and platters.

The amazing thing was of course that they didn't lose the rhythm of it, even Ori, who wasn't joining in the tossing but was carrying a tall stack of dishes the, well, more normal way, seemed to have a natural idea about where everything was going to end up avoiding getting in the way of the delicate operation.

"That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"

And when that last rousing line was cried out all the dishes, the whole set, were not only intact at the end of their journey, but sparkling clean and neatly stacked, and all the dwarves were laughing merrily at Bilbo's—and probably her own—openly awed expression. Even Gandalf was chortling around the end of his pipe.

And of course that was when three, slightly ominous, pounding knocks, came from the door. And the roaring company of dwarves fell instantly quiet.

"Ah, he's here," said Gandalf.

* * *

**Khuzdul:**

Shazara - silence

Du bekar - to arms!

* * *

**AN**: And there you have it folks, hope you like :) As always questions, comments, suggestions, and feedback is more than welcome, I love hearing from you guys!


	3. Chapter 3

**The Lion, the Dwarves and the Hobbit**

**Chapter Three**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Hobbit or any references to asoiaf/GoT.

* * *

The door opened and the dwarves arrayed themselves, and Ros, somewhat by default, around the edges of the front hall, leaving Bilbo, Gandalf, Balin and Dwalin to greet the last of the dwarves meant to arrive for the meeting.

The final member of the company was, well, impressive seemed like too soft a word. He was tall for a dwarf, not quite as tall as Dwalin but that hardly mattered when he carried himself with such casual confidence and spoke with the measured assurance of someone who _knows_ that people will listen to his words.

Yet for all that he was clearly someone of some importance he wore his beard close cropped and without adornment and his long dark hair—shot through with the occasional strand of silver—had only two braids capped with pendulous silver beads for adornment and was otherwise left to fall freely down his back.

"Gandalf," he said mildly, "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice. If it weren't for that mark on the door I doubt I would have found it at all."

Bilbo turned a narrow-eyed look on Gandalf, "Gandalf did you honestly mark up my door without my say-so? I just had it painted a week ago!"

Gandalf raised one bushy brow, "I assure you it was a necessary bit of vandalism, I shall put it right in the morning if it disturbs you so."

"Hmph," huffed Bilbo.

"In the meantime, Bilbo Baggins, please allow me to introduce you to the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield."

"A-ah, yes, at your service," Bilbo said bowing, as he'd been doing all night.

Thorin gave the hobbit a long piercing stare frowning slightly, but finally favoured him with low nod and a slight dip of his body, "And I am at yours and your family's."

In a single sweeping motion he had stepped through the door and tugged his cloak from his shoulders, depositing it on the overladen coat rack, and unbuckled both his axe and sword from his back, pulling a few knifes from various concealed places on his person. He handed them over to the hobbit with solemn deliberation and watching as Bilbo set them slightly apart from the rest, careful with the axe after the incident with one of the mattocks and his bare feet.

"So this is the hobbit you were so insistent on, Gandalf," said Thorin, turning to the wizard. "And where is the other you spoke of?"

A nudge sent her stumbling out into the front hall with a distinct lack of grace and she shot a glare at a grinning Bofur who offered her an unapologetic shrug as explanation. Unable to hide from Thorin's assessing gaze, and feeling the weight of the stares on her back Ros felt herself start to flush a sweat a bit.

"Ros Lannister, at your service," she said offering him the smile she'd perfected behind the counter of various cafes and restaurants in her home world, and a bow that was feeling less and less awkward as the night wore on.

"And I am at yours and your family's," offered Thorin, "But tell me now, have either of you done _any_ fighting? You Mister Baggins, what is your weapon of choice, axe or sword?"

Bilbo outright bristled at his imperious tone, "Well I have a fair amount of skill at Conkers if you must know, but I fail to see how that is relevant."

Thorin shook his head as he turned away from the hobbit, dismissive, "As I thought, he looks more like a grocer than a burglar."

That drew a few laughs out of the assembled, likely they were thinking of the fits Bilbo had been throwing all evening.

"And you Miss Lannister, I don't suppose you are any more skilled. The race of man, I know, does not train it's daughters in arms. I envy them their complacency."

Ros almost thought he was going to sweep past her and have that be that, but as with Bilbo he waited for her to answer him, expression unreadable.

"I've skill enough with a bow that I haven't gone hungry in the north," Ros found herself saying honestly, "Though my own bow was broken when I was cornered on the road by bandits some time ago now. Besides that I usually work with a knife."

"Better than I could have expected," said Thorin, "But not as well as I'd hoped."

And just like that they were dismissed. Thorin strode past them to greet Balin and Dwalin warmly and the dwarves filed back to the table settling in without any of the merriment of before but with a humming undercurrent of restrained excitement.

"The nerve," huffed Bilbo, his nose twitching.

Ros offered him a commiserating grimace, and settled off to one side of the hall where she could prop up a wall and hear everything but not be under scruitiny.

Thorin Oakenshield was the type of dwarf you read about in stories, stubborn as a mule, hard-headed as a rock, quick to judge and slow to change. Well, not that the others weren't like that as well, Dwalin hadn't magically changed his opinion over a fun little party and a few words after all. But Thorin wore his nature with more arrogance. Like he was passing judgement, and that judgement was final. And Ros was suddenly just glad that he knew nearly nothing about her, and wasn't inclined to learn more.

Bifur produced a bowl of stew a roll and some cured ham and Fíli a tankard of ale, and Thorin took his place at the head of the table and began eating with no less gusto but far better table manners then his fellows.

Most of the dwarves took the opportunity to talk quietly amongst themselves, lighting their pipes and paying no mind to the outsiders in their company, not even Gandalf. All their attention was fixed on Thorin.

When, finally, the bowl was empty, he nodded and Balin was quick to speak, "Tell us of the meeting in Ered Luin, did they all come?"

"Aye. Envoys from all seven kingdoms," said Thorin.

And excited murmur circled the table.

"And what do the dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?" asked Dwalin.

"They will not come. Not Dain, nor any of the others," said Thorin, resignation clear in his voice, Ros suspected he'd not expected they would. "They say this quest is ours, and ours alone."

"You're going on a quest?" said Bilbo, clearing Thorin's dish away.

Gandalf coughed slightly, clearly not ready to reveal what he expected of his hobbit friend, and just why he'd gathered all the dwarves and sent them to his house for this seemingly impromptu supper party.

"Bilbo, dear fellow, perhaps a bit more light?"

"Hm, oh, yes, of course."

Bilbo took another two candles from the living room and brought them over, and Gandalf pulled a creased and slightly battered looking bit of paper from his robes.

"Far to the East, over ranges and rivers, through woodlands and wastelands, there lies a single solitary peak," he said, tapping the paper-an old map with fading ink that looked to have been torn out of a book-with the end of his pipe to illustrate.

"The Lonely Mountain," read Bilbo, leaning unconcernedly over Thorin and Gandalf's shoulders to get a better look.

"Óin has read the portents," announced one of the red-headed dwarves, his beard thick and elaborately styled, talking over a sudden groan from around the table, "And the portents _say_ it is time."

"Ravens have been seen returning to the mountain, as it was foretold," said his seat-mate, the elderly dwarf with the ear horn, "When the birds of yore return to Erebor the reign of the beast will end."

"Um, what beast?" asked Bilbo into the hush that followed the elderly dwarf's pronouncement.

"Well, that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible. Chiefest and greatest calamity of our age," said Bofur with apparent casual unconcern, grinning around the end of his pipe, "Airborne firebreather, teeth like razors, claws like meathooks, extremely fond of gemstones and precious metals—"

"Yes, I know what a dragon is thank you," snapped Bilbo, interrupting.

"I'm not afraid," put in Ori, hopping to his feet, "I'm up for it! I'll give him a taste of the dwarfish iron right up his jacksie!"

"Sit down!" scolded Dori, dragging him back into his seat by the drooping sleeve of his cardigan.

Still the exclamation had sent the table into eager cheers and Ros shuddered. Few of these dwarves had ever seen a dragon or the damage it could do if _this_ was their reaction.

The sheer size of the creatures alone was enough to turn any knight's stomach, completely discounting the wicked sharpness of claws and teeth and the ability to breath fire hot enough to melt a castle's walls and towers with a single exhalation. And after and before all of that was a dragon's razor sharp intellect. They were all of them cruel and intuitive with their words, and smart. Patient and at the same time intolerant. Facing a dragon settled and feeling unthreatened was almost more terrifying then facing one enraged and flaming, almost.

Luckily Balin's voice, the voice of reason, rose high and clear above the din, "It would be a difficult enough task with an army behind us, but we number just thirteen, and not thirteen of the best. Nor the brightest."

He shook his head as if to illustrate the futility of such an endeavour.

"Just who are you calling dim!"

Another argument broke out punctuated by the roll of Bofur's teasing laugh.

"We may be few in number," said Fíli this time, "But we're fighters. All of us. To the last dwarf!"

Another rousing cheer followed these words, foolish and inspiring as they were.

"And let's not forget we have a wizard with us," added Kíli grinning, "Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time."

Gandalf coughed and sputtered at the accusation, pipe smoke pouring from his mouth and nostrils, "Oh, well, now I wouldn't say that—"

"Well, how many then?" demanded Dori.

"I beg your pardon?"

"How many dragons have you killed? Go on, give us a number!"

Yet another argument broke out, almost immediately, over Gandalf's supposed number of dragon kills, and Ros grew, well, impatient was probably too kind a word for it.

"Shazara!" bellowed Thorin, on his feet.

The table immediately quieted.

"You are ridiculous, the lot of you!" Ros snapped into the ensuing silence, "How do you expect to face a dragon when you know so little about the creatures? _Wizards_ don't kill dragons, _knights_ kill dragons, and there is a good reason for it."

"Ah, yes, so it is true that Gandalf thinks he has found one who is an expert on the matter of dragons. I'll ask you plainly, for I am skeptical, what do you know of it, Miss Lannister?" said Thorin.

"More than the thirteen of you combined apparently," said Ros, shivering, though not from cold, "I was abducted by a dragon and kept as it's princess for nearly a decade before I escaped, and if that were not qualification enough to speak on the matter, I tended to more weary knights carting their broken dragonlances and charred fellows away from the Mountains of Morning then I could hope to count before that."

"Y-you were what with a dragon?" stuttered Bilbo.

"Are you a princess?" asked Bofur archly.

"How did you escape?" chirped Ori, wide eyed.

"Why weren't you eaten?" asked Dori more tartly.

"Where in Mahal's name are the Mountains of Morning, I've never heard of any such place?" grumbled Dwalin.

"Quiet!" barked Thorin, "Miss Lannister," he said gesturing impatiently for her to continue.

"I am not a princess, though I came close to it at one point. As to the rest of it," Ros sighed, scraping a hand through her frizzy curls, "It's a long and mostly boring story, but the essential of it is that I was very lucky. I was able to lie to the dragon that captured me as it was young enough not to have presented a gender or chosen a name and I was its first princess. It had taken over the hoard of an old sand wyrm deep on the leeward side of the Mountains of Morning and was determined to prove itself killing knights and kidnapping any girl that might remotely be considered of noble birth, as long as I kept myself entertaining and useful it kept me alive for its own amusement I spent the better part of a decade working on a massive tapestry of gold and silver thread and seeded with gems as a tribute to its splendour, and hoping that it would remember to feed me."

The dwarves were regarding her with something like horrified admiration and Ros resisted the urge to fidget.

"I knew the second the tapestry was finished I would be eaten either by my dragon or one of the dragons neighbouring us, because no knight was about to attempt a rescue for me, they wouldn't have even if I'd been a real princess, we were far too close to other dragons. In the end one of the princesses that ended up my neighbour had, um, anticipated her wedding vows with her particular prince and was desperate to save her child. She stole a small trinket from the hoard, an heirloom she recognized from her lessons that would take her anywhere she wished. She managed to get home, and the dragon tracked the missing piece of the hoard and destroyed, well, everything to get it back."

"How did you escape then?" asked Kíli, captivated.

Ros arched a brow at the young dwarf, "When the dragon was sleeping I stole the trinket for myself, but unlike the unfortunate princess I already knew it was possible to cross worlds. So that was where I wished to go and I ended up in Middle Earth, and the magic of the trinket was destroyed in the crossing."

A despairing silence fell over the table at that information.

"Look," Ros said, trying to instill some of the earlier cheer into the gathering, shifting uncomfortably on her seat, "If you're determined to slay a dragon, it's not like you have no chance. Dragons are creatures born of magic-air and fire and light and darkness, the elements that wizard primarily draw on for their power, which is why, by the way, that wizards _don't_ kill dragons- and this magic, it lies thick around them and over their hoards. And they are clever, so intuitive, and often cruel and all that before you address their size and physical weapons. But because they are made from magic they can be killed by weapons of the earth, cold iron, sharp steel, wood. If you can get through the scales a dragon dies as easily as any other beast."

"And that is only necessary if the dragon does indeed live," said Thorin, standing, "The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years and the signs are clear for all who care to read them. Rumours begin to spread. Eyes begin to look east to the mountain, wondering, assessing, weighing the risk. It is possible that the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we let others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor! Du bekâr! Du bekâr!"

The dwarves cheered, comforted and inspired both.

"You forget," cut in Balin, "The front gates are sealed. There is no way into that mountain."

"That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true," said Gandalf, and in an impressive bit of sleight of hand, or magic, an ornately wrought key inscribed with runes and the geometric patterns favoured by dwarves was produced from his robes.

"How came you by this?" demanded Thorin his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes fixed on the key.

"It was given to me by your father, by Thrain," said Gandalf gently, "For safekeeping, until the time was right. And the time is, I believe, right. It is yours now, to do with what you will."

He handed over the key and Thorin took it reverently, tracing the etchings with the pad of his thumb, before tucking it into his shirt pocket.

"If there's a key, there must be a door," Fíli pointed out.

Gandalf tapped the map with the stem of his pipe, "These runes here speak of a hidden passage, to the lower halls."

"There's another way in!" breathed Kíli, grinning from one ear to the other.

"Yes, well, provided we could find it, but dwarf doors are infuriatingly invisible when closed. The answer lies somewhere on this map, of that I am certain, but I do not have the skill to find it. Not with any haste."

"What do we do then?" asked Dwalin, "We cannot use a key if we cannot find the door to which it belongs."

"There are others in Middle Earth who have the ability, of that I am sure," said Gandalf, "We will seek council with one or more of them on our journey, if it is necessary. After that, well, the task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage and perhaps some experience dealing with dragons would not go amiss. But if we are quiet, careful and clever, I believe it can be done."

"And that's why we need a burglar," said Ori, as if it was all just becoming clear to him now.

Ros felt for him, it seemed they'd told the younger dwarf almost as little as Bilbo about what the actual plan was.

"Hm," agreed Bilbo, rocking back on his heels and shaking his head at the map, "A good one too. An expert, I'd imagine."

"And are you?" asked the red-bearded dwarf who'd spoken of portents earlier.

"Am I what?" asked Bilbo.

And Ros had the sinking feeling that the hobbit Gandalf had recommended to them wasn't actually an actual burglar.

"He says he's an expert!" exclaimed the dwarf with the ear horn happily, drawing chuckles from the rest of the party.

"M-me?" stuttered Bilbo, taken aback, "No, no, no, no, no. I'm not a burglar. I've never stolen a thing in my life."

"Oh?" asked Gandalf archly, "Shall we bring Farmer Maggot into consultation, now, hmm?"

"That is entirely different, Gandalf, and well you know it," said Bilbo flushing.

"I have to agree with Mister Baggins on this matter, he's hardly burglar material," said Balin, shaking his head.

Bilbo nodded sharply in agreement, hooking his thumbs behind his suspenders, a habit Ros had picked up on, that he performed when he was nervous about being the centre of attention.

"Aye. The wild is no place for gentlefolk who cannot fight nor fend for themselves," agreed Dwalin immediately, "I would say leave aside the lass as well if she wasn't so knowledgeable about dragons. I mislike putting a female in harm's way, race of men or no."

More voices rose up, some protesting, some agreeing, others shouting just to be heard over the rest. Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture so reminiscent of Bilbo's actions earlier that evening that Ros couldn't help but laugh a bit.

"That is enough!" thundered Gandalf suddenly, his shadow spreading across the room like flickering mist and his voice rumbling such that it seemed like it shook the house, "If I say Bilbo Baggins is an appropriate burglar then that is what he is!"

Gandalf surveyed the dwarves, shocked into silence by his display of power and temper, seemingly satisfied, he let the shadow roll back and settled back into his chair and once again was just a stooped old man with a scraggly, unkempt beard.

"Now, hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. If they choose they can pass almost entirely unseen. He is small easily able to squeeze into crannies and crevices and chiefly and most importantly, while the scent of dwarves and men is familiar to Smaug and may alert him to your presence the scent of a hobbit is all but unknown to him. It will give us a significant advantage."

"If we can read the map and if the dragon is alive at all to make such precautions necessary," Thorin pointed out.

Gandalf huffed, "You were the one who asked me to find you someone with the skills necessary and I have chosen Mister Baggins. He has a great deal more to offer then anyone could guess, including himself. You must trust me on this."

Gandalf and Thorin stared each other down for a long moment, two sets of blue eyes boring into each other, each searching for something.

"Very well," Thorin finally conceded, "We will do it your way."

Bilbo visibly blanched at the pronouncement, "No, no, no!"

"Give him the contract, hand over Miss Lannister's as well," Thorin said, speaking over Bilbo's stuttering protests without a backward glance.

"Please, I don't think—"

"Alright," cheered Bofur, drowning out Bilbo's further objections, "We're off!"

Balin produced to thick bundles of paper from the folds of his coat handing one over to Ros and the other to Bilbo who paced into the other room with it letting it unfurl.

"It's just the usual: a summary of out of pocket expenses, remuneration, funeral arrangements, that sort of thing," Balin assured them with a tired smile.

"Funeral arrangements?"

Bilbo, who looked more than a little concerned, started reading over his immediately, muttering aloud, "Terms: cash on delivery up to and not exceeding one fifteenth of total profit, if any. Seems fair. Mmm, present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted or sustained as a consequence thereof including but not limited to…lacerations…evisceration…incineration!"

He shot the table an incredulous look.

"Oh, he'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye," said Bofur casually.

"Huh," said Bilbo, a bit breathless.

"You alright there laddie," asked Balin, probably concerned with the sudden nauseated expression on the poor hobbit's face.

"Think furnace with wings," elaborated Bofur.

"A-air, I need—" gasped Bilbo retching.

"Are you going to puke or faint?" asked Kili.

"Flash of light, searing pain, and then poof! You're nothing more than a pile of ash," said Bofur cheerily.

"More like a smear of sludgy soot on the stones," muttered Ros, reading through her own contract.

"Hmm," breathed Bilbo heavily, for a moment it seemed like he would steady out but even as they looked on he said a quiet, "Mmm, nope," and made a run for the bathroom where he could be heard violently losing his dinner.

"Hm, very helpful you two," grumbled Gandalf.

"Best that he knows what he's getting into," said Bofur innocently.

"I'll go brew the lad some more tea, Ori try to find some crackers or dry biscuits or something," sighed Dori.

"We could hope for a burglar with a stronger stomach," grumbled Dwalin.

"The lad is terrified Gandalf, he won't come along," added Balin, "Nor would we want him to if he is so unwilling and so underqualified."

"I will talk to him," said Gandalf, "The decision of course will have to be his, but I feel—I feel as though we need him on this quest."

And with a careful manoeuvre he stood, accepted a plate of plain biscuits from a frowning Dori and went to go retrieve Bilbo from the bathroom.

"And yourself Miss Lannister?" asked Balin, "You know better than almost anyone here what exactly we will be facing if that dragon is still alive in the mountain and perhaps a little notion of what might happen if he is not. We are not your kin, nor are we your friends. Will you really sign that contract and risk your life for the possibility of gold."

Ros looked up from her contract, giving Balin a tired look, "I wouldn't do this for gold, not for all the gold in a lost dwarven kingdom. But, there was something, something that Gandalf told me and I'd heard it before, and I hear it time and time again—this time, I know for sure, I can do good if I don't run away from this, so I'm going to see it through. For once in my life," she added in a low mutter, then, more brightly, "So, does anyone have a quill?"

* * *

**Khuzdul:**

Shazara - silence

Du bekar - to arms!

Tharkun - The Dwarf name for Gandalf

**AN: **And in this chapter we get to hear some more about Ros and her history! Thanks to everyone who took the time to review, alert and fave my humble story, you guys rock socks!

As always I love to hear from you guys so please feel free to review or PM me with questions, comments, concerns, suggestions on plot or pairing and any feedback you guys might have! No writer is an island and I can't tell you how useful it is to have outside opinions, plus, also, so inspiring!

**EDIT (March 28 2015):** Changed the summary so it wasn't all about Ros and her poor character traits, hopefully it appeals to more browsers ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**The Lion, the Dwarves and the Hobbit**

**Chapter Four**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Hobbit or any other references.

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With her contract signed and handed over to Balin for safekeeping Ros felt the weight of her decision settle over her, the fear she'd kept at bay all night settling into her stomach. A familiar ball of ice and barbed wire.

She knew what they were to face, more or less. On the road, and at the end of it. And she'd be a fool not to be frightened, she reasoned, trying to swallow around the leaden weight in her gut that said she should tear up that contract and tell the dwarves to forget they ever met her. But she wouldn't. She wanted to be useful, she wanted to change her ways, this was the way to start. She was convinced. If she could see this through to the end, she would keep her current name, and live with it, she had resolved, whatever else might come of it.

Trying to push the fear aside, Ros cast around for something to occupy herself with, Bilbo and Gandalf had absconded to the living room and Bilbo was once again ensconced in his armchair with a cup of tea, while Gandalf gesticulated at him apparently trying to make a point.

Off to one side, Dwalin and a few of the others were clustered talking quietly.

"I said it. Didn't I say it?" said the red-bearded one, "Coming here was a waste of time."

"We did get a good meal out of it, Glóin, and it'll be one of our last in a good long while," said Dwalin.

"Yes, yes, but we've lost time detouring here, and for what? Ridiculous notion. Use a Hobbit? A Halfling? No, we would have been better off having Nori engage one of his contacts. Preposterous idea all around and the lad is going to refuse to come mark my words."

"Whose idea was it anyway? To engage the Halfling?" asked the dwarf with the ear trumpet.

"The wizard's, Óin," Dwalin answered, "That is the only reason Thorin has been so agreeable about the whole situation. You don't meddle in the affairs of wizards, and Tharkûn has a short enough temper."

"Eavesdropping?" asked another dwarf, the third Ri brother—Nori?—appearing at her side seemingly out of nowhere and giving Ros a start, "Sensible habit Miss Lannister, very sensible," he said with a knowing grin.

"You know where I come from they say eavesdroppers never hear anything good," she said, eying his somewhat elaborate hairstyle with interest.

"True enough perhaps," agreed Nori, "But the goodness or badness of overheard information doesn't usually keep it from being _useful_ information."

"You're our sneak-thief, right?" she said, changing the topic, "Dwalin mentioned you were the one who'd be attempting the burglary if Bilbo said no."

Nori threw Dwalin a narrow-eyed look and it seemed like he was going to protest the allegation for a moment, but instead he just shrugged and said, "Seems so, though I'm only here because my fool brothers insisted on joining. Ori wants to record it all and Dori wasn't about to let him go alone since he couldn't stop him, the mother hen. So of course now I have to stick around and make sure they don't get themselves into trouble."

His gaze crept over to where Ori was writing carefully in a leather bound journal by the candlelight, Fíli was hovering over his shoulder, making a comment, and even as they watched the blond dwarf ruffled the younger dwarf's hair and went to join his brother. Nori seemed to shake himself out of whatever reverie he'd fallen into and he shot her a cheeky look.

"So, Miss Lannister, care to get in on the pot early? I'm offering ten to one odds on the hobbit staying."

Ros glanced at Bilbo and Gandalf consideringly, and then with a grin and a shrug, dug into her money-pouch, "I'll put five coppers on Bilbo to come," she said.

"You like the risky bet, I can respect that, indeed I can!" he said cheerfully tucking her money away and handing her a tiny slip of parchment as a sort of betting stub, offering her a bow, "A pleasure doing business Miss Lannister," he said before swaggering over to throw an arm around Dwalin and offer them a chance to join in the wager.

Dwalin shrugged his arm off with a glare and a sharp word in the dwarf language that Ros didn't quite catch but was sure was unflattering. Shaking her head she turned away.

Wandering into the kitchen she found Dori and Bombur putting the crockery away, while the rest moved the tables and chairs back where they belonged or enjoyed a last tankard of ale and a smoke.

"Are we staying here tonight?" she asked Dori, taking advantage of her height and reaching over to set the platters and things on the top shelf.

"Aye, lass, Mister Baggins has a few beds to spare us or so it would seem. No sense wasting the chance for four walls and a roof. Though if you're wanting a bed for yourself best speak quickly."

"No that's fine," said Ros, "I don't sleep well anymore, better to hand it off to someone who'll appreciate it."

"Doesn't feel right," frowned Dori, sorting the cutlery into its proper drawer, "You being a lady and all."

"Hardly a lady," laughed Ros, "And besides a hobbit sized bed would be far too small for me in any case."

"If you're sure," sighed Dori.

"I'm sure. Is that the last of the dishes?"

"Aye lass, go relax a bit. Thorin'll be wanting an early start, mark my words, best get your rest now."

With that dismissal Ros wandered back into the hall, pausing to eavesdrop shamelessly when she heard Balin speak.

"Well, that's that then isn't it? I would appear that we've lost our burglar. It's probably for the best. The odds are against us, they always were. After all what are we? Merchants, miners, tinkers, toymakers—hardly the stuff of legends."

"There are a few warriors among us," said Thorin, and Ros would have said his voice was warm, encouraging, even fond.

"Old warriors," Balin pointed out, and then, amused, "And young ones, as yet unblooded in battle."

"I would take every single one of these dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills for when I called upon them they answered. Loyalty, honour, a willing heart. I could not ask for more, nor would I."

Ros peaked around the corner to see Balin give a sigh and a nod, "Aye. And I suppose we have the lass too. She signed the contract quick enough."

"I wish that she had not, for all her supposed expertise," grumbled Thorin, "Were I her kin I'd have a number of things to say about this."

"Well, you're not her kin and for that I'm somewhat relieved, I know the wizard is not convinced the dragon is dead. We may well have need of her expertise before the end of this."

"Perhaps," was all Thorin said.

"You don't have to do this," Balin said after a long moment, "You have the choice. You've done honorably by our people. You've made a new life for us. A good life. Is it so bad to rule over the Blue Mountains and let Erebor lie?"

"From my grandfather, to my father, the key has now come to me. Don't you see Balin? They dreamt of the day we would reclaim our homeland, not see our people's birthright plundered like a tomb. They would never allow such a thing, and so neither can I. There is no choice, Balin. Not for me."

Balin sighed again, and Ros heard the clap of his hand on Thorin's shoulder, "That being the case, we're with you laddie. We'll see it done."

"My thanks old friend."

Turning down into the opposite hall so that Thorin and Balin wouldn't catch her peeking in on their solemn little discussion Ros found herself looking through the door to Bilbo's bedroom. The hobbit was sprawled out on his stomach with his face half buried in the bedding, not having bothered with crawling under the sheets or changing out of his shirt and trousers.

"Bilbo, you awake?" she asked.

"No," he grumbled, opening one bleary blue eye.

"Really?" she teased, folding herself onto his area rug cross-legged so that they would be eye-to-eye, "Cause you look pretty awake to me."

"Most definitely your imagination," Bilbo retorted, closing his eye again, after a long moment though he sighed and said, "I heard from Gandalf that you decided to go with them, to the Lonely Mountain that is."

Ros hummed in agreement, "I had always planned to, really, Gandalf had me all but convinced when he sat me on his horse and dragged me down here. I had just wanted to meet the dwarves first before committing myself to anything."

Bilbo sat up abruptly, "But why on this good green earth would you agree to take on a quest like this?" he demanded, "You're not a dwarf, and you know what dragons are like, I just can't understand it! Do you want your fifteenth share of the treasure so badly? You could die out there, at any time, in hundreds of painful ways very truly far from home."

Ros shrugged a bit philosophically, "Everybody dies, sooner or later," she told him, fiddling with the laces on her jerkin, trying to gather her thoughts, "You know for all the time I've been alive I've spent more of it just…puttering through, not looking to the rest of the world, avoiding danger, avoiding living my life. But, I've come to realize that life is uncomfortable, confusing and difficult all on its own. I want to do something more with whatever time I have left. To try living for once."

Ros looked up to see Bilbo frowning at her thoughtfully, and she had the thought that maybe she'd struck a chord in him. And that was when the dwarves began to sing, first Thorin, with the others joining in on the second verse their voices low and solemn and filled with enough emotion to raise the hairs on her arms.

Bilbo seemed entranced long after the thrumming voices of the dwarves had quieted to hushed murmurs and chuckles as they readied themselves for sleep, snuffing out candles and raiding the linen cupboards for the winter quilts and blankets Bilbo had put away.

Ros dozed, leaning against the bed and enjoying the dying warmth from the fire. For a long time Bilbo didn't speak, frowning at nothing and picking at a loose thread on his bed-spread.

When he did move finally Ros didn't jolt awake until after he was across the room and stirring the fire up from embers, and she finally understood just why Gandalf thought Bilbo would make an excellent burglar.

She didn't sleep well anymore, not since the dragon, any unfamiliar noise and a good proportion of the familiar ones were enough to have her snapping awake and alert in an instant. It had proven useful any number of times since she'd started living in the northern wilds of Middle Earth, saving her from bandits and orcs alike, but Bilbo had managed to slip right past her without catching her attention.

"Sorry," whispered Bilbo, "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's fine, I'm conked out on your bedroom rug after all," said Ros, stretching out the kink in her neck "What are you still doing up?"

"I'm coming with you," Bilbo declared quietly, "I've thought about what you said and I think I am quite ready for an adventure, after all I'm not getting any younger and I feel that I'm rather, well, worried to be frank, about all of you going off to battle dragons."

"Hopefully just the one dragon," Ros teased gently.

Bilbo shot her a quelling look, and then slumped and let out a sigh, "I don't know what kind of help I'll be, but at least if I go along I'll be able to _do_ something, even if it's only giving you an extra pair of eyes. Sitting at home in my armchair with my books just wondering if the lot of you even made it to the mountain, whether the dragon lived, if you succeeded…I'd go quite mad waiting for some news to turn up."

Ros fought the urge to laugh as Bilbo made the attempt to justify himself to her, but mostly, she thought, to himself, wringing his small hands and plucking at his suspenders self-consciously.

"And besides I already went and signed the contract so there's really no turning back now," he said, nodding his head as if to say 'and that's that!'

"Did you take that off of Balin while he was sleeping?" asked Ros, eyeing the multi-fold parchment that was stretched out to its full-length and spread haphazardly across Bilbo's quilt in the centre of the detritus that seemed to be an attempt at packing.

"Ah," said Bilbo, looking a bit embarrassed, "Yes, well, I didn't want to wake anyone in case I really couldn't bring myself to sign it."

And Ros snorted, burying her face in her sleeve to muffle her laughter.

"What?" demanded Bilbo, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning at her.

Trying to get herself under control, Ros explained, "Well if there was any doubt about your usefulness as a burglar that serves as a pretty good indicator of skill doesn't it? I can't wait to see their faces when they realize—"

Bilbo offered her an uncertain smile as she collapsed back into hilarity.

"Come on," she offered still chuckling, "I'll help you pack."

"Oh, yes, good, I was wondering if I should bring a third waistcoat. And how many handkerchiefs do you imagine I'll need?" he asked, frowning at the items splayed over his bed-spread with perfect seriousness.

It took them the better part of two more hours—and a great deal of contention about what was and was not a necessity on the road—to get Belladonna Took's old pack, packed up without waking the rest of the dwarves. Eventually though Ros conceded to a skillet and the better part of a drawer of handkerchiefs and Bilbo reluctantly admitted that his cunning waistcoat with its delightful brass buttons was not likely to stand up to the hard wear it would be subjected to on the road and added in an extra blanket and a hooded cloak instead.

By the time the fire had burned itself low again Ros had to admit—thinking of the sparse supplies still hanging from Gandalf's saddle—that the hobbit would be better kitted out than her in everything but weapons. And by that time it was well into the night.

Bilbo offered her the bed but Ros just took his extra quilt and pillow and kipped out on the area rug next to the fire, falling instantly into a light doze and waking every few minutes while the hobbit shifted, too anxious or excited to fall asleep, or when one or another of the dwarves in the other rooms let out a particularly loud snore.

Still, morning came on faster than Ros expected and she thought that maybe she'd actually slipped into a proper sleep at one point because she felt rested when she next snapped alert. The fire had gone cold when she got to her feet and stretched out all the usual knots and aches that came with sleeping on the floor or the ground, but she still felt warm and content and smelt slightly of cedar wood smoke and whatever was in the potpourri in Bilbo's linen chest.

When she padded out into the hall she could see that a number of the dwarves were still sleeping and slipped through the dining room into the kitchen to put the kettle on, thinking she'd have another wash and another cup of tea before they had to leave.

Bombur, which she'd learnt was the proper name for the rounded, red-headed dwarf with his long thick braid, was awake and at the counter stirring milk into a still-steaming cauldron of oats.

"Good morning," she said as she passed him with the kettle.

"Morning Miss Lannister, breakfast is almost ready," he told her, muffling a yawn with his sleeve, "Porridge with nuts and sugar, compliments of our gracious hobbit host."

She pumped a the water into the kettle and set it on the fire to warm and retrieved her shirt and undies from Bilbo's laundry-line. They were dry and fresher smelling then they'd been in a while and Ros was more than satisfied with her handiwork.

By the time she was washed, brushed, dressed and relieved, the rest of the company was awake and milling about again, a rumpled and yawning Fíli brushed past her to get to the bathroom and offered a terse grunt to her quiet, "Morning."

More cheerily Ori handed her a bowl of porridge and a spoon, speaking around his own mouthful of breakfast, and Dori pressed a mug of tea into her free hand when she'd bolted the sticky stuff down and made to return her dish to the kitchen.

Bofur was singing none-to-quietly at the washbasin, some marching song about mutton and bars but none of his fellow dwarves seemed inclined to join in for once, Kíli even going so far as to pitch his dirty spoon at the back of his head with a dark look.

Ros was beginning to worry about Bilbo sleeping in when he didn't turn up for breakfast and things started getting tidied up and packed away but just as she was thinking about going to wake him he turned up next to Balin in dressed in his hardiest set of clothing with his mother's pack hanging from one shoulder.

"Um, Mister Balin," he said, "I, erm, well, I signed it. I'll come with you."

He thrust the, carefully re-folded, document out in front of him, and Balin frowned patting at his coat pocket a bit wide-eyed as he noticed the missing contract.

"How did you-no never mind, a burglar indeed. Well, everything appears to be in order," said Balin a bit wryly, looking over the document, "Welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield."

"Come on, Nori. Pay up!" crowed Kíli triumphant.

"What's that about?" Bilbo hissed up at her.

"We bet on whether or not you'd come along," Ros said with a sly grin, catching the purse that Nori tossed at her.

"Most of 'em bet that you wouldn't," added Nori, "All 'cept, Kíli, Bofur, Bifur, the lass, and the wizard. Gandalf came out the best off though."

"Make some haste!" Thorin barked at the company, who were still milling around Bag End grabbing a last minute breakfast or trip to the bathroom and belting on their weapons, "We still need to retrieve the ponies and the wizard from Bywater and I wish to be in Bree by nightfall."

And one by one the dwarves filed out of Bag End and started back down Bagshot Row at a ground-eating march, Dwalin in the lead.

"Coming?" prodded Ros, when Bilbo lingered in his doorway, just staring for a moment.

"Hmm, oh, yes," and with that he pulled the door shut behind him and hurried in front of her after the dwarves.

"And where're you off to in such a hurry, and such a company Mister Bilbo?" asked his neighbor who was out digging in the garden.

"An adventure, Hamfast, I'm going on an adventure," he said with a grin and a wave, "Look after the house for me if you would and tell Bell she's welcome to the tomatoes!"

"Careful on your way!" the neighbor hollered back.

And then they were mostly caught up with the tail end of the line of dwarves, and truly on their way.

* * *

**Khuzdul:**

Shazara - silence

Du bekar - to arms!

Tharkun - The Dwarf name for Gandalf

**AN:** Some of you might have noticed that I've changed some things, like the summary and searchable characters and have officially settled on the main pairing (I was outlining last night and the more I thought about it the more I was like, yes, yup, uh huh, this is what I want to write)! Some of that is in hopes that it'll draw in more readers (as my first chapters are, I realize, less than action packed) but some of it is because I want to more accurately summarize what we're going to cover in the plot rater then just outlining the OC's character traits.

And I can also safely say this is the most writing and posting I've done in a very long time (so proud of myself) and I'm pretty excited to get to the real meat and potatoes of the story! How're y'all enjoying the scene setting and character development so far?

As always I love hearing from you guys even if it's only a few words! Til next time :)


	5. Chapter 5

**The Lion, the Dwarves and the Hobbit**

**Chapter Five**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Hobbit, or anything else you may recognize.

* * *

The Green Dragon was the great inn in Bywater that marked the boundary of the Shire proper and was set to one side of the Great East Road. It was the only inn in the whole of the shire that could boast proper accommodations for 'big folk', as the hobbits called them, and also the only establishment west of Bree to host a proper stable for ponies and even horses.

Glóin and Gandalf had bought out the entire structure and the hobbit stable-hands—two tallish hobbit lads in their tweens who were most likely excused from their more usual duties as the pot-scrubber and gardener respectively—looked run ragged by the time the company marched up the lane around second breakfast.

There were sixteen ponies with light tack and provisions, snorting and grazing away without a care, their wiry tails flicking off flies placidly.

Bilbo still looked terrified as they approached.

"I'm not expected to _ride_ one of those am I?"

Ros could have laughed, but she knew that people, even people who stood taller than her were intimidated by the thought of getting up on top of such big, strong animals who on top of everything had minds and wills of their own.

"You are indeed Bilbo Baggins," said Gandalf, from the other side of the picket line, "This is no hobbit walking holiday, we will have to move forward at a consistent pace and with some speed."

Bilbo frowned, his nose wrinkling dramatically and an expression that made Ros think he was regretting all his decisions crossed his face.

"Ros, my dear girl, I am afraid the Green Dragon boasts only one full-sized horse for sale and he's rather old but seems steady enough."

Gandalf gestured to the towering bay gelding who had probably been quite fierce in his prime but was now fat and lazy-eyed with age and good grazing.

"You cannot get on that monster," Bilbo said, immediately clutching at her wrist to keep her from moving forward.

"I have to agree with our burglar there," said Bofur, giving the gelding a dubious glance, "The lass isn't that tall even if she is of the race of man, and she certainly can't be any heavier than Bombur. Can she not sit a pony?"

"She could," said Gandalf with an arched brow, his lips twitching upwards at the corners in the ghost of a smile, "But unlike Bilbo she is not small enough to settle in in front of the baggage and we do not want to overtax our mounts. Do not look so worried. Ros is a thoroughly capable rider and I have no doubt that she can handle herself against whatever trouble old Sugarfoot can offer."

As if to prove his point Ros slipped out of Bilbo's death-grip and went over to where Sugarfoot was tethered to the paddock fence grazing peaceably on some of the encroaching weeds around the base of the nearest post. The old bay flicked his ears at her as she approached, listening and curious, and when she got close enough immediately began snuffling at her hair and pockets looking for treats.

"Well hello there Sugarfoot," she said, unashamed to admit to cooing a bit at the big spoiled softie, "I do have a little something for you, yes I do."

Sugarfoot snorted and lipped at her hands as they dipped into her belt-pouch.

Ros laughed and brought out a chunk of carrot that she'd brought just for this occasion feeding it to the greedy beast out of her hand and enjoying the velvety softness of his nose against her palm, bringing her other hand up to pat his long neck and standing obligingly firm while he scratched his face against her arm and shoulder.

When she turned back to the company, they were, almost to a dwarf, tense and tight-faced, Fíli even had a grip on one of his swords seemingly prepared to spring to her rescue at the slightest sign of distress.

"Relax, he's a sweetheart," Ros told them, "Though I am going to need a leg-up. I've got no clue how the hobbits managed to get him tacked up when they can barely reach his chest."

There was however a simple and clearly old molded-leather saddle smelling of fresh saddle soap sitting high on Sugarfoot's withers.

"I offered some assistance when I saw that they were struggling," said Gandalf, striding over to his roan mare, a haughty animal that Ros had dubbed Nellie on their way from Belgrave since Gandalf had never offered her name.

The dwarves and Bilbo still looked a bit wary but seemed willing to take her at her word, moving to check over their own belongings, supplies and mounts, muttering amongst themselves.

The dwarves seemed more or less familiar with ponies, though they treated them more briskly then Ros was used to. Since she had less luggage to sort through she took her time checking the girth and stirrups and picking up Sugarfoot's feet and checking his hooves for stones, laughing a bit as she watched Kíli and Bofur lift a still-protesting Bilbo from the ground and deposit him unceremoniously on one of the smaller ponies in front of the large cook pot.

"Miss Lannister," said Fíli to catch her attention, nodding his head at Sugarfoot, "You said you needed assistance?"

Ros was a bit confused about the formality, since she'd had the impression that Kíli and his brother were both fairly unrepentant troublemakers and not too concerned about things like propriety unless it suited them to be, but she was grateful for the offer none-the-less since she did need a hand and the rest of the company were busy going about their own business.

"Thanks, and please, Ros is fine," she added for what felt like the hundredth time.

Fíli gave her a nod and something that might have passed as a smile on Dwalin but didn't seem quite right on his usually open face. Still, he laced his fingers together gamely and when she set her booted foot into them he pushed her easily up and into the saddle, so she offered him a smile and a quick, "Thanks," as she settled, adjusting the length of her stirrups and clucking her tongue at Sugarfoot to urge him away from the fence.

"We're moving out!" bellowed Thorin turning his pony down the lane and making for the bridge over the river for which Bywater was named.

Fíli dashed over to where Kíli was holding his pony and hopped onto it with rather more speed than grace, and followed Ori and Dori after Thorin.

Ros shifted a bit in her saddle, nudging Sugarfoot into a sighing plod and trailing after the company, bringing up the rear. Her new height gave her the advantage of being able to observe all of the dwarves and Bilbo more easily, and she was amused to note that most of the older dwarves and Fíli and Kíli were fairly easy on the ponies whereas Ori was almost as bad as Bilbo in a saddle and was mostly relying on his mount's desire to stay with her fellows to keep him moving, since he'd abandoned the reins for his journal and a thin stick of charcoal.

Still the dwarves kept to a steady walk as the day wore on eating up the leagues under the filtered sunshine as they maneuvered the ponies over hills, down narrow ledges, and across grass-spotted cliff-faces.

Thorin and Gandalf stayed a bit ahead of the rest of the group, blazing the trail and arguing by the looks of things, and the rest settled in to ride two or three abreast dropping into low-voiced conversation in khuzdul for the most part and occasionally tossing food and jokes. Though Fíli and Kíli were very obviously conspiring about something riding a little apart from their fellows.

Sighing Ros nudged Sugarfoot into line with Bilbo, who was sniffling and sneezing and trying with a somewhat comical lack of success to keep his stiff hold on his reins and rummage in his coat for his pocket handkerchief at the same time.

"Having trouble?" she commented.

"It's the horse hair," sniffed Bilbo miserably, "I'm having a reaction. Can't smell a thing."

"You can hold the reins in one hand you know Bilbo," said Ros, "She's not going to bolt on you unless you spook her, and maybe not even then."

"Easy for you to say," grumbled Bilbo, waving a hand at her, "You're all—horsey!"

"Thank you, Bilbo, that's just what every girl wants to hear," she said tartly.

Bilbo waved her off, reluctantly gripping his reins in one white-knuckled fist while he retrieved his handkerchief, blowing into the fabric square and rubbing at his nostrils daintily.

"I am already regretting this adventuring nonsense, it's a lovely day and it's been needlessly made uncomfortable by adventures," the hobbit sighed, "I shudder to think how this morning would have turned out if I'd let you convince me that handkerchiefs were unnecessary, I really do."

Ros managed to keep from laughing, but only just barely, and she knew her shaking shoulders and twitching mouth betrayed her amusement to the hobbit.

"You'll get used to it," she said, grinning, "And a great many other things, as the days go on. Adapt and survive and all that. The first day is the hardest."

Bilbo sneezed again.

"Ugh," he groaned, "I am never letting myself be talked into anything ever again," he declared, blowing his nose with more vigor, "Never!"

And Ros couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

Another laugh rang out from the end of their little march of ponies and Fíli was, well, he didn't want to say panicking, but he was well and truthfully panicking, and had been since the moment the door to the bathroom at Bag End had swung open that morning.

"Alright, tell me, what in Mahal's name is going on with you," said Kíli, low-voiced and speaking in khuzdul as he nudged Bungo a little closer, "You've been as stone-faced as our dear and beloved uncle all morning."

"It's nothing," grumbled Fíli, cursing his brother for knowing him so well.

"It's not nothing, Fee," said Kíli, rolling his eyes, "Give me a little credit, would you? It's coming up on eleven o'clock and you're still just as grumpy as you were when you woke up this morning."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Then we won't talk about it, you'll tell me what's wrong, I'll shoot it in the face, and we won't talk about it," agreed Kíli cheerfully.

Fíli sighed, "That would not help anything. This isn't something you can fix for me. I have to figure it out on my own," he sighed again, more gustily, "Of course that doesn't mean I have any idea of where to start."

"So just tell me what the problem is and let me help you! I don't know why you're being so difficult, you and I both know you can't keep anything from me for long."

And Kíli did have a point. They'd lived out of each other's pockets since Kíli had been born, and the advantage was that Kíli knew everything about him. And the disadvantage was that he couldn't hide anything from his pushy younger brother. A double-edged sword if ever there was one.

He wasn't actually sure what was keeping him from just telling Kíli what had happened that morning. Well, there _wasn't_ anything stopping him from explaining what had happened. But he was strangely reluctant to try and explain how he was _feeling_ about it.

Fíli eyed his brother consideringly.

"Oh, come on," protested Kíli, "If you can't trust me with your deepest, darkest, most embarrassing secrets, who can you trust?"

Fíli snorted, smirking slightly, "Practically anyone else, Kee, you're a natural loudmouth."

"But," he interjected with a broad satisfied grin, "You're going to tell me anyway!"

"But I'm going to tell you anyway, Mahal only knows why," agreed Fíli rolling his eyes.

"So what is it?" demanded Kíli, "It's been killing me trying to figure it out because I was with you practically all last night so you couldn't have gotten into too much mischief."

"This isn't like the time I lost mother's best throwing axe or misread the instructions for one of uncle's commissions and had to work all night to fix it," grumbled Fíli.

"Oh, I know, if it were something like that Thorin wouldn't be in such a good mood," Kíli pointed out, "And you'd have already dragged me right into it," he added as an afterthought, "But of course that just begs the question, what _is_ it?"

Gathering his nerve Fíli strapped a bit of mental steel to his spine and blurted out in a miserable voice barely above a whisper, "I've met my One."

Kíli blinked, shocked into silence for a brief second, before glancing around to make sure no one was paying too much attention to them and hissing, "What? Who? It isn't Ori is it? Because no offence brother but if Dori or Nori catch you making eyes at their precious little brother they will kill you!"

"What? No! It's not Ori," said Fíli shaking his head.

"Who then?" frowned Kíli, "I know it's not Nori. Bofur? Or Bifur?"

"It's the woman, Kee," Fíli blurted, just to stop the innocent guesses from continuing to spill out, "Ros Lannister. She's my One."

"What? Are you serious?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?" he demanded, fighting the urge to bury his face in his hands, "Uncle is going to kill me."

"He's not going to kill you," Kíli assured him automatically, "Come now brother, Thorin knows that a dwarrow can't choose his One, we'd all have been married off years ago if we could. But are you sure she's the one? How can you tell?"

Kíli was standing in his stirrups, craning his neck around trying to get a glimpse of their dragon expert on her giant beast of a horse. Though what he was hoping to see Fíli couldn't have said since Ros didn't look any different then she had before.

"Sit down, nitwit, I don't want the whole company finding out right this second, thanks!"

Kíli automatically ducked Fíli's swat, and turned back to face front, leaning towards Fíli, a conspiratorial grin replacing the worried frown he'd been wearing just a moment before.

"Alright, alright, don't get violent, brother," he said, "When did you figure it out? How did you know? I know they say that you just know but there has to be some way of telling who—"

"I realized it this morning," Fíli grumbled, cutting off Kíli's familiar rant, "I was half asleep still and I passed her on my way to the bathroom and she said good morning and I looked at her and I just—knew. It settled in my gut like a stone, the knowing. The surety. I swear Kíli I've never felt so sure about anything in my entire life. And then I looked up at her and there was this—this light around her, for half a moment it was like I was still dreaming. I can't even describe it, Kee, it was…"

He trailed off shaking his head as words failed him, nothing could quite capture the feeling of suddenly realizing that you'd been breathing with a single lung your whole life or seeing with a single eye. He felt, more, whole and complete, where the day before he would never have claimed that anything was missing.

"Unhelpfully vague, and disgustingly poetic, Fee," grinned Kíli, "Now I have no doubts that she's your One. You sound like Glóin when he talks of Gemri. Congratulations. Now, really, what's to complain about? Miss Ros would make you a great wife," said Kíli, "There's no real trouble is there? I mean she's a female so she'll give your dutiful self the requisite heirs and she's got no angry brothers to speak of!"

"Kíli—"

Warming up to the idea now Kíli twisted a bit in his saddle, gesturing wildly with his free hand, and barreling right over Fíli's exasperated sigh,

"You know you could do much worse, she's pretty enough for all that she has no beard, a little on the skinny side perhaps and tall—I guess that might make it hard to kiss her, but in the grand scheme of things—"

Fíli snapped, throwing his hands up, "Of course she's beautiful! In my eyes she's radiant and perfect! She is my _One_, Kíli, that's not the problem!"

"Well then what _is_ the problem?"

"Kee, she's not a dwarf!" Fíli said, "Don't you see? She is _my_ One but I am not _hers_."

He gave his too-optimistic brother a moment to digest that little nugget of information.

"Oh," frowned Kíli, scratching at the patchy stubble serving as his beard, "Yeah, no, you're right, that might be an obstacle."

"Thank you."

Kíli frowned ahead thoughtfully for a little bit and Fíli slumped a little in his saddle, all hope that telling his brother would magically make his situation better vanishing like so much mist. If anything acknowledging the fact that their dragon expert was his One out loud had made the situation more solid, more real.

If she had been a dwarf, even if she'd been horrifically unsuitable in whatever way, the way forward would be clear. Telling her that she was his One. Offering her a stone or a gem. Telling mother and Thorin and her family of their discovery and intent. The various intricate steps of dwarven courting would have been observed in good time. Then they'd marry, most likely eventually having children, heirs to the throne of Erebor—taking some of the pressure off of both Kíli and Thorin and securing their line for another generation—this all provided, of course, that they didn't die horrible, fiery deaths in the quest to retake their stolen kingdom.

"How do you know you're not her One?" asked Kíli suddenly, looking very pleased with himself.

"What?"

"I was just thinking, what do we really know about courting among men? Nothing! We know they take wives, but I've never heard it told how they choose them. Who's to say they don't have perfect other halves like dwarves? And even if that is not the case in this world, your winsome lass is from another world entirely! Her own people might have some way of knowing their matches as yet unknown to the men of Middle Earth!"

And that—was actually a good point. Hope swelled in his chest, and he risk a short peek over his shoulder at Ros, who was leaning down on her horse, stretched comfortably across its great neck talking with the hobbit.

She laughed at something Bilbo had said, probably some wry remark, and Fíli felt his heart leap in his chest.

It was odd, knowing that he was going to fall in love with this woman, that it was only a matter of time. Already he had started noticing little things that made her appealing, the tilt of her mouth, the crinkle of her eyes when she laughed, the fact that her voice was like wood smoke and crushed velvet, low and warm. That she'd purportedly outwitted a _dragon_.

He knew, in the rational practical corner of his mind, he _knew_ that he was just-just goldstruck by the realization that she was for him, and that he wasn't actually in love with her just yet, but Mahal knew it would be a short fall for him. No, this would not be a reluctant romance like in the songs, not on his part.

"I have a plan!" Kíli announced, breaking Fíli out of his reverie.

Fíli quirked a brow at him, hopeful. Kíli didn't always make the most successful of plans but on occasion he'd put something together that worked out beautifully.

"The only way we're going to learn anything that could help you is if we get information right from the source, as it were."

"Kee!" Fíli protested, "That's a terrible plan, you're not just going to ask her who her One is, she'll see right through you!"

"Try to have a little faith in me," protested Kíli, "Look there, Bofur is riding alongside your lass and Bilbo, a few innocent questions and he'll ferret everything out without incurring any suspicion and then we can have the advantage and make a plan to win her over!"

"What you're going to do it now?"

"No sense wasting time," said Kíli, waggling his eyebrows and grinning wide and bright as he turned Bungo back the way they'd come and circled more or less into step with Bofur.

"This is such a bad idea," muttered Fíli, but he didn't dare make a scene calling for his brother to come back.

Instead he spurred Daisy forward with a carefully gentle kick of his heels and trotted along for a few uncomfortably jouncing steps until he was in line with Dori and Balin, joining in with their discussion about hobbitish tea and pipe-weed in a desperate bid to distract himself from the potentially life-changing interrogation occurring behind them.

* * *

**Khuzdul:**

Shazara - silence

Du bekar - to arms!

Tharkun - The Dwarf name for Gandalf

**AN: **And we take a slightly random and completely unexpected detour into Fili's POV because I needed a little something of a primer before they got to Bree and Ros was too busy enjoying trail riding in the sunshine to be of any help to me! Hopefully I've got him and Kili down cause I really honestly love their dynamic together and want to do it justice.

Anyway, enough rambling! Thanks to everyone who took the time to review, alert and fave, hearing from you guys and knowing that you're enjoying the story really makes my day, that being said I'm always looking to improve so suggestions and concrit are also always more than welcome!

Hope to see you all on the next go around :)


	6. Chapter 6

**The Lion, the Dwarves and the Hobbit**

**Chapter Six**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Hobbit, or anything else you may recognize.

* * *

"You look like you're sitting pretty easy on that great beast, lass," called Bofur, falling into step on her other side, "And to think I was worried about you."

Ros shrugged, "I took riding lessons for a few years when I was a girl."

"Oh, did your family own horses then?"

"No, definitely not," snickered Ros, "My mum didn't like the smell, my sister was actually quite like Bilbo around horses, twitchy and wary. My dad was pretty seriously allergic and lived in a city besides which, but on Thursdays after school my step-dad would drive me a couple of miles down the road to Warnika stables and Miss Warnika would teach me and a couple of the other girls from town how to handle a horse."

"This was in your home world?" asked Bilbo.

"Yes," agreed Ros.

"What's a step-dad?" asked Bofur, "I mean if I'm figuring your story right a 'mum' is a mother and a 'dad' is a father, but is a step-dad a father that you step on? Do you have two different fathers?"

Kíli, looking interested, fell in beside Bofur, "You stepped on your father?"

Ros huffed slightly shaking her head, "No, no. My family situation was a bit, well, confusing."

"If you want to talk about confusing I can show you my family tree," said Bilbo with a chuckle, "I can recite out what amounts to my entire genealogy since the days of the Goblin Wars."

"Or we can tell you how everyone in the company is related to each other," added Kíli.

She didn't really want to talk about her family, even after all this time she didn't like to think about how they must have felt when she up a disappeared, or how her parents had probably died never knowing what had become of her, but at the same time—

"Tell you what," she said, sucking in a breath and summoning a challenging smile, "You tell me about the company and I'll tell you about my family."

"Alright, a fair bargain," agreed Kíli easily.

"Well, to start off with I would just like to say that Bifur, Bombur and me aren't part of the line of Durin," Bofur said cheerily, "We're good solid Broadbeams, though our mother had some Firebeard in her. Bombur is my older brother and Bifur my father's brother's son. We fell in with Thorin at the Battle of Azanulbizar, been with these half-mad Longbeards ever since."

Kíli shot Bofur an exaggeratedly offended look, "We're not that bad! Don't believe a word of it my lady Lannister."

"Call me Ros, please, or I'll start calling the lot of you Master Dwarf and milord," Ros threatened.

Kíli pulled a face.

Bofur laughed, "Best get used to it, lad," he advised, "We take back that mountain and they'll be milording you from the Iron Hills to the Blue Mountains."

"Why's that?" asked Bilbo.

"Well, 'cause Thorin's the rightful King, of course," Bofur pointed out, "Doesn't mean much in practice right now, truth told, but, if he can get the throne back, the lads'll be princes."

"Then, Thorin is your father?"

Ros could see that being the case, Kíli at least looked very like what she imagined Thorin might look like if he deigned to smile properly.

"Thorin is our uncle, mine and Fíli's, through his sister, our mother, Dís," Kíli clarified, "Until he has a son of his own we're his heirs and next in line for the throne of Erebor. As Bofur says, provided we can claim it. Then it goes Dáin, then his son whose name is also Thorin, then Balin, then Dwalin, then Óin and Glóin and then the last of the direct line is Glóin's son Gimli. Though I suppose if all the rest of us died mother might try to make a claim for the throne, we've never had a ruling Queen but mother could easily be the first if she cared to work for it."

Ros shot the company a short, incredulous look before dropping her eyes back to Kíli, "You're not serious," she said faintly.

"Oh, aye," said Bofur, holding up a hand and naming dwarves off on his fingers, "Thrór, Thorin's grandfather and the last King Under the Mountain before the dragon came, had two brothers and his youngest brother went and ruled in the Iron Hills, and that lordship went to his son Náin, and then when he died at Azanulbizar his son Dáin became the lord. Thrór's father had a brother as well and his son's son was Fundin, who was Dwalin and Balin's father, and then Fundin's brother was Gróin who fathered Óin and Glóin."

"No that's not—what I mean is you lot brought over half the line of succession on a quest where you're all as likely to die as succeed?" Ros said, "Don't you think that's a little, I don't know, careless?"

"Well, who else would do it?" Kíli pointed out, "It's our birthright, and while we're not the only ones who would care if the dragon died or left the mountain we're the only ones with enough to gain that we're willing to risk facing the dragon for it. Even Dáin is content to have the Iron Hills alone and he's got a good claim to the throne of Erebor."

"Like I said, Longbeards, half-mad, and Durin's direct get are the worst of the bunch," Bofur put in with a grin and a wink, chewing on the end of his pipe.

"If you're not of the line of Durin," Bilbo asked Bofur suddenly, frowning up at him from the back of his pony, "Just what are you doing on this quest?"

"Have you not yet taken a proper look at that contract, Master Burglar? On this quest all the food and ale is complimentary!" Bofur declared happily, throwing his arms out wide and making his pony snort and dance in annoyance.

Ros laughed even though she couldn't help but think that Bofur and his kin probably had more complex reasons for joining Thorin's quest than free food and drink, though, she admitted, she could certainly see that being their favourite side benefit.

"All right, miss—Ros, sorry, Ros," Kíli said, giving her a sheepish grin, "A deal's a deal, tell us all about clan Lannister where you step on your fathers!"

Ros rolled her eyes, and considered doing as Kíli asked quite literally and reciting the history that she knew of the Lannisters of Casterly Rock, but decided against it at the last second. As much as she didn't want to talk about her long-lost family she also wasn't prepared to renounce them for a pack of storybook characters.

"Alright, if you must know," she said.

"We must," said Kíli, grinning, wide and bright and expectant.

Ros let out a gusty sigh, but nodded, pondering on where she should begin.

And she could see that their discussion had caught most of the rest of the company's attention as well, their conversations going quiet as they listened, Ros even caught Fíli glancing over his shoulder to peek at them curiously, their eyes locking for a split-second before he turned away.

"Well then, my mother's name is Lynn and my father's Alexander they both lived in the same city, in roughly the same area and went to school together for several years," she started, trying to keep to the basics.

The dwarves didn't need to know about how her mother always smelled faintly of sunscreen or that her dad had once made her laugh so hard she'd fallen clean out of her chair.

"They didn't get together until well after that although they saw each other regularly and had the same circle of friends. It's a pretty common story where I'm from, they got married when they were too young, still in their twenties, and found out that they weren't right for each other a few years after I was born. So they divorced, that's like a legal breaking of a marriage, and moved out of their house and I lived mainly with my mother and saw my dad once or twice a week and on weekends."

"That's terrible," said Bilbo, feelingly, "I can't even imagine what it would be like being shuffled back and forth like so much luggage!"

"Maybe, but it was just how things always were so it didn't bother me and I didn't think too much of it, you know?" said Ros, "I was just a child, I didn't know anything different. For a while they even only lived a few streets apart, so sometimes my father would visit us after work if he wasn't home too late. I was lucky in that way, my mother and father stayed on good terms and I never felt caught in between their arguments. At least I knew both my parents though, right? I mean, a lot of kids had it way worse."

Kíli was nodding a bit, his face thoughtful, and Ros realized that although he'd spoken of his mother Dís, he'd made no mention of his father.

"My mother went on to fall in love with Peter," she continued, barrelling right past the topic, "They were together for a few years and didn't intend to make it official, so to speak, but then my mother got pregnant with my sister, Elsie, and Peter managed to convince her to marry him. And that's why he's called my step-father, because he married my mother but didn't have a hand in, uh, making me. Elsie is also technically my half-sister, but we don't really make that distinction," shrugged Ros.

"Is that common among your people," said Kíli, looking distressed, "The breaking of a marriage?"

"It didn't used to be," Ros said, "In the past if a woman left her husband she was considered ruined and broken and would have been shunned no matter if she'd been happy with her marriage or what her husband did to her. But in the hundred or so years before my parents were born it slowly became more and more common. My mum's parents were divorced too, but they never remarried and she was shunted around to her various aunts and cousins until she was old enough to live on her own. By the time I'd left home it was actually more uncommon in my country to see a couple who'd lasted out a lifetime of marriage, though, my step-father's and step-mother's parents both did."

"So your father also took another wife?" said Bofur, amazed.

"Yeah," said Ros, smiling a bit when she thought of just how Maggie had managed to snare her dad for good, "It took him a bit longer for him but when I was sixteen he married another girl from the neighbourhood where he'd grown up, Maggie, and they had two sons together, John and Arthur."

Her brothers had been two and four when she'd left, bouncing bundles of energy and mischief with her eyes and her dad's curls that she'd never had a chance to see grow up.

"What of your father's parents?" asked Bilbo, "You've made no mention of them, did they manage to remain together?"

"Ah, that's even more complicated, and a little sordid for the times," said Ros, pulling a face, "My father's mother was very beautiful and a bit of a tart, so even though she never married she had four children. The three girls, my aunts, were all by the same man, but my father's father was someone else entirely. He never met him and I actually don't think that the man even knew that he'd fathered a child. My father though, he left his mother when he was ten to go and live with his sisters' father, who legally adopted him, gave him his name and raised him as his own son."

"I take it from your expressions that that kind of thing is as unheard of among dwarves as it is among hobbits," said the frowning Bilbo into the ensuing shocked silence.

"Yes," agreed Kíli, "Dwarves who fall in love, love only once and if their love won't have them they devote themselves to their craft and will never take another."

Ros smiled faintly, "Ah, true love."

"Is that what you'd call it?" asked Bofur, gathering himself enough to flash her a smile.

Ros shrugged and stretched, sighing as her hips and lower back protested, "Close enough I suppose," she said, "In the second world I lived in they were very big on the concept, 'true love's kiss the spell shall break' and all that. Personally, I don't know if I believe in that kind of thing, maybe it's different for dwarves, but I've never met someone and loved them at first sight or loved anyone who I'd say would ruin me for another love."

"But you do fall in love, the race of man, I mean, don't you?" said Kíli, raking a hand through the tangles of his wild hair.

"Of course," said Ros.

"How do you go about courting, then?" asked Bofur, "If you can't be sure that you've got the right lad or lass?"

"I guess you just try and get to know the person, and you hope," said Ros, trying to explain, "For my people, most of the falling in love is done in the courting stage, after you start to get to know a person. Getting together for meals or going to different places, talking to each other. Eventually, if all goes well, you know the person, and you trust them, and you know if there is a future for the two of you together or not. And that, in my not-so-humble opinion is when people should get married if they feel like it's necessary."

"But that's not what always happens?" queried Bilbo, "Why not? That seems eminently sensible to me. In fact I'd say that's a very hobbitish way to go about a-courting!"

Ros hummed a bit in agreement, "You'd think, but people get stupid about romance."

"But how do you even decide on a person to court, if you can pick just anyone, anywhere?" demanded Kíli, frustrated and confused if the deep furrow in his brow was anything to go by.

"It depends what you want in a mate," Ros pointed out, "I mean, some people go based on outward appearances, others look for someone smart, or funny, or wealthy. Then once you've started going out you get a feel for what the other person wants out of the relationship—companionship, children, a good time. But like I said it's completely dependent on the person."

"And what are you looking for in a man, lass?" asked Bofur, winking at her, and presenting himself with a flourish, "Perhaps a handsomely bearded fellow, with a fine singing voice and impressive taste in headwear."

Ros was amused to find herself actually giggling at the dwarf, and she put on her best flirty expression, hoping it didn't look as rusty on her face as it felt.

"Tell you what Mister Bofur," she said, "If you really want to find out, you can buy me a drink."

Bofur for his part just grinned and said, "I might at that lass, I might at that."

"Alright," she said, clapping her hands together, fighting the urge to blush, "I think I've embarrassed myself enough for the afternoon. It's time for you lot to take a turn. How does dwarven courting work? Or do you even bother courting if you have only one true love?"

"Of course we do," said Bofur, "Even if you're lucky enough to know your One right away, you still need to get to know them, and then of course it's always possible they won't want you right away and you'll have to prove yourself to them, or there'll be some problem with their family, or their craft. Plenty of troubles to borrow even when you do know."

"Even when a dwarf doesn't have the luck to know, apparently there's a kind of sense that you have the right person as you spend more time together. Or so Bombur puts it anyway. That's why it's so—hard, or better to say strange, yes, it's very strange to think of just poking about at random for a partner," added Kíli, nodding his head.

Ros snorted. When Kíli talked about dating or 'wheeling'—as her sister had sometimes put it—like it was ridiculous and he couldn't even fathom it—it did seem kind of silly, but the dwarf had absolutely no context to draw on so she let it be.

As the day and the trail wore on he and Bofur explained, with quite a lot of gesturing and no few amount of examples from Glóin's— apparently singularly fraught—courting period, about the significance of giving the intended individual a crafted gem or stone, and that they might be granted permission to braid or unbraid their hair and there were certain types of braids that a married couple would be expected to wear.

Bilbo piped up then with a mention that the races of men and dwarves were both silly and complicated in their rituals. Apparently among hobbits if a hobbit lad wanted to court a hobbit lass he offered her flowers, and if she accepted she offered him food, and occasionally vice versa. He then launched into a scathing description of the efforts his cousin, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, had gone through to snare herself the somewhat rich and entirely unimpeachable Otho Baggins after she'd set her cap for him at the delicate age of twenty-seven.

The day passed in that fashion, the weather remained fine and the pace brisk but unhurried, and she and Bilbo kept their minds off the growing discomfort of the saddle by conversing at length with Bofur, who was occasionally joined by Kíli or Bifur and at one point Ori got brave enough to sidle back away from his brother and listen with rapt attention to Ros' description of the epic battle that had been engaged between the few knights staying in her village to recuperate and the giantess who'd been living in the foothills of the mountains.

They arrived in Bree a little bit after the traditional supper time, and it was clear that the company had made some prior arrangements because a parcel of stable hands darted out from the shadowy corners of the Prancing Pony and deftly took the ponies and the two horses from them while Glóin handed out coppers and grumbled about the expense of such a stop.

Bette Butterbur, the innkeep's wife who was as briskly efficient as Butterbur himself was forgetful and absentminded, led them to their rooms—Ros was set to share the big-person room with Gandalf—where there were ewers of fresh water and cakes of hard soap for washing up, telling them to get settled in and that there'd be food set out for them.

Gandalf set his luggage on the bed closest to the door and then disappeared for parts unknown with a purposeful stride, leaving Ros to clean some of the road dirt off herself and go digging around in the bottom of her pack for the crumpled bit of blue fabric that eventually through much shaking out resolved itself into a simple skirt.

It wasn't terribly impressive but a woman running around in trousers in Bree was going to attract both attention and trouble, both of which Ros was keen to avoid. So she changed and lay down on the hardwood floor for a few minutes to ease some of the soreness lingering in her hips and then, at Bofur's prompting, got up to join the rest of the company for dinner.

* * *

Although the dwarves had been instructed to keep a low profile in the backwater town there was music and dancing aplenty in the main room, a few of the locals taking up well-worn and weathered instruments and singing well known bar songs and setting up wheeling country dances, that adding in a baker's dozen of rowdy dwarves was barely. It was the perfect cover, and the ale and mead was flowing freely and the happy din would leave memories dull and unspecific.

A fact that Nori was taking advantage of, she could see, fleecing some of the older, seedier regulars in a game involving dice, while Bofur joined the musicians taking advantage of the free ale. Kíli was twirling around the floor with one of the barmaids. Ros was worried when she didn't see Bilbo only to find him absorbed into a group of hobbits playing darts, and they were all being watched by Thorin and Dwalin who'd tucked themselves away into one of the nooks in the back resembling nothing so much as shorter, cleaner examples of rangers of the north.

Ros had tucked herself away in the corner perched on one of the barstools with her legs crossed giving the room a good view of her bootlaces. The honeyed mead had gone to her head a bit and between that and the sheer number of beeswax candles in the taproom casting their forgiving flickering golden light the room felt softened and almost blurred around the edges.

The music was lively and bright and her foot was bobbing in time to the beat. She wasn't quite drunk enough to consider actually getting up and trying her hand at not accidentally sending someone to whatever passed for a hospital in Bree with her complete lack of rhythm, but it was a near thing. Which was why it was a very good thing that she spotted Fíli pushing his way through the crowd toward her.

"This place is a madhouse," he said, snaring the stool next to her and hopping onto it, listing somewhat to the left, "I've had an easier time of it crossing battlefields! But here we are, for milady."

"I'm not a lady."

He waved her off and set a worn wooden goblet by her elbow with a lopsided flourish.

"What is this?"

"A drink."

"Thank you, Sherlock, I hadn't gotten quite that far," she said dryly, "I mean a drink of what?"

"You'll like it," he said, smirking and cocksure, "Just try some."

Rolling her eyes, Ros brought the goblet to her lips and took a tentative mouthful. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Fíli's expectant look.

"It's passable," she said, trying for haughty.

Admittedly the fact that she immediately took a second, longer, sip probably ruined her little act.

"Hah! You do like it!"

She laughed, "Very well, I admit it. I like it. Where in the seven hells did you find spiced summer wine?"

"Best not to reveal my secrets," he said, glancing back over his shoulder, "Wouldn't want Bofur to know the key to winning your favour after all."

"You were eavesdropping," she accused, poking him in the shoulder and taking another slow sip and savoring the spicy fruity flavor of the wine and the warmth spreading out from her belly to the tips of her fingers and toes.

"Guilty."

"Nori must be so proud," she said with a smirk, "So, did you learn anything useful?"

"What kind of wine you might prefer, that I'd need Kíli and his bow if ever I found myself attempting to kill a giant and that you are particularly beautiful bathed in late afternoon sunlight," he answered promptly.

She nearly choked on her next sip of wine, and brought her hand up to her mouth hide her cough as it trailed off into outright snickering.

"How much have you had?"

He thought about it for a second.

"No idea," he said, flashing her a grin that was all reckless charm, "Wasn't paying close enough attention."

"Ookay, then, that is also mine," she said, deftly plucking the ale out of his hands.

The mug wasn't more than half full and she downed it in three long gulps, and when it was gone Fíli was staring at her with awe written plainly on his face.

"You—"

"And I didn't even have to spill half of it down my front to finish it," she teased.

She set the mug down and pulled a face as the flavor settled thickly on her tongue.

"I am definitely going to regret that in the morning," she said, shaking her head and then grimacing as the action made the room tilt alarmingly, "I haven't done that since college."

"I don't know exactly what you mean to say by that but I will say that however long it's been, you have not lost the knack for it," said Fíli.

Ros took another long draught of wine to wash away the flavor of the ale and leaned back to eye the blond dwarf consideringly.

"Your boots are pretty sturdy, right?"

"Yes," drawled Fíli, "Why—"

"Good," she said sliding of the stool and taking the last sip of her wine, "You know what else I haven't done since college, made a complete fool of myself on a dance floor."

Fíli's eyes lit up and he took her hands in his as he led her out into the centre of all the din and commotion, twirling her around with the same deft ease the Kíli had demonstrated on the barmaids and not seeming to mind when she stumbled into him, stepped on his feet, and nearly brained him with her elbow.

And Ros was amazed to find that it was fun, she had almost forgotten what that felt like, to do silly awkward dancing and to shout just to be heard over the crowd and to sing her own version of the chorus to whatever the hell they were playing at the top of her lungs, secure in the knowledge that no one would be able to hear her or was sober enough to care even if they did.

Eventually though the music died down as the musicians sought their beds or passed out from too much indulgence in the free ale, and she and Fíli were one of the only pairs left.

"We should get to sleep," she sighed.

"Just one more dance," said Fíli pulling her back towards him.

"There's no music doofus, and we have to be awake again in three hours," Ros pointed out, resting her crossed arms on the top of his fluffy golden head, and ignoring his annoyed expression "I don't know about you but I am an old person and I need to sleep."

His grip on her waist tightened for a fraction of a second and then her sighed and shook her arms off, "Alright, very well, but you owe me one more dance."

"Deal," she agreed, "Now, tell me what's wrong."

"It's nothing," he said leading her out into the hall.

"It's not nothing," said Ros, "Whenever anyone says it's nothing that means there's something and they just don't want to tell you about it."

"Which begs the question why are you demanding that I tell you something that by your own logic you already know I don't want to tell you."

"Because usually in these kinds of situations the person that you don't want to talk to about the thing is the person you should be telling about the thing."

"You're drunk."

"You're drunk," countered Ros, "And avoiding the question. Just tell me what's got your damned beard in a knot so I can call you an idiot and you can feel better."

Fili threw his hands up and muttered something growly under his breath in the language of the dwarves.

"And that means?"

"Mahal save me from the stubbornness of women," repeated Fili, scrubbing a hand over his beard.

And Ros had to smirk a bit at that.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Looking like the cat that got into the cream," he said, chuckling, "I haven't agreed to tell you anything."

"What's that? You're going to tell me everything?" she said, leaning toward him and cupping a hand around her ear, "Well I already knew that."

Fíli gave her a look the previously she'd only seen him use on Kíli, three parts exasperated one part impossibly fond.

"I'm just a bit disappointed that this might be the last night like this we get for a good long while," he told her, "I wish we had more time to just, be like this."

"We?" asked Ros, "You mean the company."

"I mean you and I," Fíli corrected her, "I—"

"Wait," Ros said, "Don't _say_ anything, Fíli, please."

"And why shouldn't I? You were the one who told me to tell you," he said shaking his head at her, "And you were right to. I want you to know how I care for you. And I know that you care for me as well, I see no point in attempting to deny it."

"It's not that simple," Ros said.

"I am going to make it that simple," Fíli retorted, "I know there are obstacles, I know that the quest might claim our lives, and I know that you're a terrible dancer. I have decided that I don't care. You make me happy, and awed, and exasperated and I'm not asking you to feel the same for me I just—"

"Fíli," she said shaking her head and scraping a hand through the wild tangle on the top of her head, "We can't, we really, really can't. Or maybe you can do this now but _I_ can't."

Her lips twisted upward on the one side but she knew from the confused frown taking some of the light out of Fíli's eyes that she wasn't able to keep the melancholy off her face. Admitting defeat she let out a gusty sigh and swayed forward, bending to press her forehead to Fíli's briefly, and then pulling away, just far enough that she could make out the different facets and striations that made up the overall blue colour of his eyes.

"Don't waste your time on me," she advised him, her voice soft, "You get one shot at true love, and I'm not the one you wanna be stuck with, trust me on that one."

Brow still furrowed, as though she was a particularly difficult and slightly upsetting puzzle, for a moment Ros thought he might lean up and kiss her, despite her words. Instead though, Fíli reached out a hand brushing a stray curl off her forehead with delicate care.

Ros pulled away, relieved and at the same time a little disappointed and quickly turned around before she could lose her resolve.

"I think you're amazing," he called to her retreating back.

"You don't know me that well," she said, glancing back over her shoulder briefly, before turning quickly back away.

"I will, though. I'm not going to give up. I will come to know you, eventually, and it will change nothing. I will fall in love with you."

It might have been easier if he'd shouted it, but his voice was just barely above the appropriate volume for conversation, liquid and slightly slurring and filled with bone-deep conviction.

Ros quickened her pace, taking the stairs two at a time, and slamming the bolt on the door to the closet she was calling her own that night home as if that would keep Fíli's words from ringing in her ears.

Unfortunately peeling off her clothes and flopping into the cot serving as her bed and attempting to smother herself with her lumpy little pillow did absolutely nothing to quash either the fizzy frisson of glee or the cold surge of fear welling up in her gut.

Soon, however, the luxury of a warm clean bed and the excessive amount of alcohol she'd consumed defeated her anxiety and she fell into a fitful sleep, the image of Fíli half-frowning and half-smiling at her as he watched her walk away heavy in her mind.

* * *

**Khuzdul:**

Shazara - silence

Du bekar - to arms!

Tharkun - The Dwarf name for Gandalf

**AN: **Not sure if I'm entirely satisfied with this chappie, but it has everything I wanted to include in it (finally) so I'm posting it and to hell with the consequences. This was written in lots of little sections so I'm not sure if I managed to keep Fili and Ros in character (writing flirting is hard) I'll definitely go back and maybe try and smooth things out but please let me know if these two are acting completely bipolar.

Thanks to everyone who took the time to review, alert and fave, hearing from you guys and knowing that you're enjoying the story really makes my day, that being said I'm always looking to improve so suggestions and concrit are also always more than welcome!

Hope to see you all on the next go around :)


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